Rootless
by TheShyOrator
Summary: AU where Dumbledore manages to convince Dippet to send Newt off to Ilvermorny in North America as an exchange student instead of expelling him. Newt Scamander/Original Percival Graves (slow build, age difference)
1. Chapter 1 - How it Began

_**Summary:**_ AU where Dumbledore manages to convince Dippet to send Newt off to Ilvermorny in North America as an exchange student instead of expelling him.

 _ **A/N:**_ I kept the summary simple but rest assured, Newt has some exciting (and exasperating) times ahead of him... Enjoy!

 **Disclaimer:** This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the Harry Potter and Fantastic Beast and Where to Find Them world, which is trademarked by J. K. Rowling.

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Newt's shoulder ached from Professor Merrythought's iron grip as she marched him down the deserted corridor towards the Headmaster's office. They walked in absolute silence; Newt could practically feel her trembling with barely contained anger and winced when he saw the tight clench of her jaw from the corner of his eye. It was a wonder her teeth hadn't pulverised from the force she was grinding them with.

It has been hours since the Jarvey had gotten loose and Newt's trouble had started. Leta had somehow managed to smuggle the overgrown ferret into the school without detection despite its tendency to scream insults at anything that moved. Newt still didn't know what his friend had intended to do with the creature because Leta would never give him a straight answer. Newt had let the matter go when she'd promised him that she would release the creature when the opportunity presented itself. He had willingly helped her keep the Jarvey hidden in the school for months, providing it with fresh rats and materials for it to make a nest in. Newt held himself responsible since it had been his turn to feed it when the creature had gotten loose and wreaked havoc. Jarveys were usually peaceful creatures when left alone and reminded Newt strongly of their non-magic cousins, the mink, with their similar hunting habits. The animal had attacked a fellow student but thankfully the only one who'd witness the entire scene was Leta and since she was the root of the problem Newt doubted that she would breathe a word about the matter. Leta had gotten away in the nick of time before professors Merrythought and Beery had burst into the room with their wands aloft. Newt had been left alone to try and explain the situation before it got any further out of hand. Since then, Newt had been locked up in the staff room while the teachers frantically tried to bring the situation under control. The Jarvey hadn't survived when the teachers tried to neutralise the threat. The poor thing's heart had given out under the strain of multiple stunning spells. Newt had been distraught by how fast everything had gotten out of hand, and he'd felt compelled to keep Leta's involvement a secret when Headmaster Dippet and his Head of House, Professor Kettleburn, had interrogated him. It had been easy to take full responsibility for the situation since the boy who'd been a victim of the accident hadn't been able to speak, much less point a finger.

Merrythought's fingers tightened their grip on his shoulder, and Newt felt like they would dig through his skin and hit bone. To his relief, her grip slackened when they rounded a corner and came to a halt before the stone gargoyle that guarded the entrance to the headmaster's office. It flared its wings in irritation at the disturbance and Newt instinctively tried to shy away from the range of its great wingspan. Merrythought shoved him forwards in a clear message that he wasn't escaping this. Newt threw his arms out to regain his balance as he stumbled. The gargoyle settled and it eyed Newt with amused satisfaction, obviously pleased with Newt's unease.

"Password," it demanded in a surprisingly nasally voice and Merrythought tsked impatiently. Newt hovered awkwardly between them but didn't dare to make a sound lest he brings the professor's ire down on himself again.

"Caput Draconis," Merrythought snapped, and the gargoyle spread its wings once more, accepting the given password.

"Testy," the gargoyle muttered scornfully, and Merrythought snorted.

This wasn't the first time Newt had been sent to the Headmaster's office, but he never ceased to be amazed to see the circular staircase emerge from the gargoyle's foundation. This time it also filled him with sickening dread. Nothing good would come from this visit and Newt knew that he'd be lucky if they decided to simply snap his wand in half and not send him to Azkaban.

"Up you go, Mr Scamander," Merrythought said with strained civility that brooked no argument and Newt didn't think twice. He hurried up the still moving staircase to put as much distance between himself and Merrythought's cold gaze but regretted his hastiness when he had to wait for the staircase to reach the top. He didn't blame the professor for her hostility. That poor boy would in all likelihood never regain the use of his hand again. The Jarvey had bitten them clean off before going for his throat. Newt shuddered when he remembered how the blood had seeped into his clothes. It had long since dried and crusted over the fabric of his robes and the knees of his pants. The pained screams still reverberated around in his head, and Newt briefly thought about jumping over the edge of the last step to escape what awaited him, but it felt too cowardly for him to actually to go through with it. No, he would face his fate and accept whatever the punishment the Headmaster gave him without complaint. After all, it was what he deserved for harming a fellow student; no matter if he hadn't meant to.

Newt stepped forward when the steps connected to the landing and made his way to the headmaster's office. He hesitated in front of the door to gather his wits and build up an iota of courage. Newt knew that he had no other choice but to proceed and swallow his fear and knock on the door. Before he could strengthen his resolve, an unseen force swung the door and Newt was called inside by the weathered voice of Headmaster Dippet.

"Inside if you will, Mr Scamander." Newt scrambled to comply and closed the door behind him with a definitive 'click', sealing his fate. Newt took a quick glance around the office to prolong the moment before he needed to face the headmaster. The large circular room was covered from floor to ceiling with overflowing bookcases that Newt itched to explore. The room was clean despite the clutter and Newt absently wondered if it was because of the housekeeping standards of the headmaster or if it were the workings of Hogwarts' duteous house-elves. Eyes of former headmasters and mistresses tracked him as he made his slow progress to the current headmaster's desk. Newt knew that he had dallied long enough and took a seat silently when the headmaster indicated to the plush armchair facing him. Newt still avoided his gaze and busied himself by looking at Dippet's inkpot. It was the same type his mother used when she wrote the annual Christmas scrolls to all their relatives and acquaintances.

Headmaster Dippet took a moment to pick up a pair of reading glasses and settled them on the bridge of his nose before he spoke. "Now, you know why you're here, Mr Scamander?" Dippet waited for him to answer. Newt nodded without looking up. He pulled at a loose thread on his sleeve and curled his toes in agitation. The headmaster sighed tiredly, and Newt darted his eyes up to see him rub the ridge of his nose, setting his glasses askew.

"Still not fond of eye contact I see, boy," he said with exhausted amusement, and Newt shook his head instinctively in denial. He forced himself to meet the headmaster's eyes for a moment, to prove him wrong, but all too soon it became overwhelming and helplessly, his gaze fell downwards again.

"Um, no, sir." Newt huddled deeper into his seat and prayed for a quick end. He braced himself for the axe to fall when the headmaster opened his mouth again to speak.

"This is not the first time you've been sent to me regarding your dealings with magical creatures. During your first year it was the Giant Squid; the third year it was a nest of Ashwinders; the fourth year it was merpeople, and last year it was centaurs! You disappeared for a week and when the search party found you; you were participating in some ritual! With centaurs! The most taciturn creatures I've ever met! In all my years as headmaster of this school, I've never had a Hufflepuff who can cause as much mayhem as you, Mr Scamander." Newt slumped deeper into his seat with every word the headmaster spoke.

"I'm afraid this time you've gone too far, and I will have to-" Dippet broke off with a frown and looked towards the still closed door. "What on earth is the meaning of this?"

Newt looked at the headmaster in bewilderment, but Dippet wasn't speaking to him anymore and was still frowning at the door. Newt turned around in his seat to peer over the back of his chair as it opened. Professor Dumbledore stormed in, looking sterner than Newt had ever seen him before; his presence filled the room and demanded everyone's attention. Newt felt a sliver of traitorous hope blossom in his chest at the sight of his transfiguration professor. Dumbledore had always seemed fond of him for reasons unknown to Newt and had let Newt study and interact with his phoenix companion, Fawkes, to his heart's content. He'd even answered all of Newt's questions with patience if not pleasure.

"I'm sorry to disturb, Armando, but I cannot in good conscience allow you to expel Mr Scamander." Newt's breath caught in his chest, and he felt faint. Expelled from Hogwarts? Was he really going to go through with this? Yes, he would never be able to live with himself if he betrayed Leta like that.

"Allow-" Dippet spluttered in confused outrage. "What is the meaning of this, Albus? You know that I am honour bound to protect this school and as headmaster, it is my duty to protect Hogwarts' students from any harm."

"This boy is no killer, headmaster, and he should not be treated as one," Dumbledore reasoned calmly. Newt eyes widened, and the headmaster seemed to agree with Newt's assessment of Dumbledore's choice of words.

"A killer? I very much hope not but he has committed an egregious crime, and he must be punished accordingly." Dippet straightened as much as his spine would allow him. It didn't make much difference since his body seemed permanently stooped with age.

"I agree with you wholeheartedly, but expulsion won't help anyone," Dumbledore asserted with a fervour that surprised Dippet.

"It would certainly calm the Board of Governors. They are baying for blood, and I can't blame them! Bringing a wild animal into the school is no joke, Albus. Mr Scamander nearly killed a student with his carelessness." The words were like a blow to Newt, and he felt his lip tremble. He bit it viciously and clenched his hands into fists. He would not cry in front of the headmaster and his professor. No one seemed to have noticed the tears that glistened in Newt's eyes, and he discretely blinked them away.

"If I may offer an alternative, headmaster, this could all be resolved without irrevocably destroying Mr Scamander's prospects." The words were met with a moment of thoughtful silence as Dippet mulled over Dumbledore's words.

"All right, I will consider this alternative, but I will make no promises, Albus," Dippet conceded with a weary sigh. "I have had quite enough of this nonsense."

"Thank you, Armando. That is all I ask of you." Professor Dumbledore turned to Newt and said with a kindly smile, "If Mr Scamander would be so kind as to step outside for a moment while we discuss the alternatives." His confident manner almost allowed Newt to start to breathe again.

Newt looked at the headmaster for confirmation and Dippet waved him away with a harried air. Newt pushed himself out of his chair warily, and Dumbledore shooed him out of the office with a pat on the shoulder. They were quiet until Newt had stumbled out of the room and nearly jumped out of his skin when the door slammed at his heels.

Newt's heart was pounding in his chest as he loosened his tie; bile rose in his throat when he saw the dried blood splatters standing out vividly against the yellow and white of the material. He tugged it off with shaky hands, hyperventilating as it caught at his nose and the knot constricted. His trembling hands tugged at the tie more frantically, and Newt finally managed to break himself free after what felt like hours of panicked pulling. He took a minute to calm his breath. No one had thought to use a cleaning charm in all the panic and Newt had always been awful at performing the simplest of household charms.

"T-tergeo." Newt pointed his wand with an unsteady hand the knees of his pants where the stains were worst. To his relief, some of the dried flecks seeped away and disintegrated along with some of the fabric, leaving his pants slightly singed and mottled. Newt fell back against the stone wall and sank to the floor in exhaustion. His wand dangled loosely between his thumb and forefinger as he stared sightlessly at the opposing wall. His mind was already miles away.

Expelled from Hogwarts. Tears gathered in the corners of his eyes again, and he screwed them shut to prevent the tears from flowing. Men weren't supposed to cry. His father had told him, so countless times but Newt never seemed to get the hang of controlling his emotions. He was a sensitive soul, his mother would say in his defence. Newt knew he was innocent, but every bone in his body protested the idea of letting his best friend take the blame when he could prevent it. The Jarvey was dead and the boy, who'd simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time, had almost died, and now Newt would have to leave Hogwarts. It had all been for nothing.

Time seemed to have come to a standstill, and Newt didn't know how long had passed when the door swung open, and he was called back inside. The headmaster was looking more ancient than ever, but Dumbledore smiled at Newt warmly when he entered.

"I didn't mean to harm anyone!" Newt said in a rush, feeling the same unnatural breathlessness as he so frequently experienced when he felt pressured or was suffering from exceptional emotional distress. "I just wanted to keep the Jarvey safe until I could take it back to its natural habitat and let it free. I never meant for any of this to happen."

"I know, my boy," Dumbledore said gently, and Newt let out a shuddery exhale. "This has all been an unfortunate series of events, but there is little we can do to change it now."

"You do understand the severity of your actions, don't you? Keeping a wild beast inside school grounds is highly dangerous and absolutely prohibited by school rules for the exact reasons you have so heedlessly demonstrated!" Dippet slapped a hand on the desk, and his glasses slipped down his nose until they were teetering precariously on the end of his nose.

"Of course, sir. I take full responsibility for my actions and will accept any punishment you decide is fitting," Newt said solemnly, and Dippet pierced him with a grim stare. Newt held his gaze until the headmaster tugged off his glasses and started to polish them with the sleeve of his robe.

"Well, I was going to expel you for what you did," Dippet said with a stern frown, and Newt's heart lurched in fear. Being expelled from Hogwarts was one of Newt's worst nightmares. Despite lack of popularity among his fellow students, Newt loved the castle itself, and many of his fondest memories were of his time at Hogwarts. On one memorable occasion, Leta brought him to the Black Lake to show him a colony of water-walking spiders. Newt's curiosity got the better of him, and he waded into the water to have a closer look at the spiders. He soon found himself in too deep, but the Giant Squid grabbed Newt by the waist and hoisted him back onto dry land.

"However, Dumbledore has seen fit to speak in your defence. You sought out to protect that creature, and Merlin knows you have a history of getting into trouble when it comes to your furry little friends. I believe you when you say that you never meant for this to happen but another student was grievously injured. He has been transferred to St Mungo's, and I've already spoken to his parents. Lucky for you, they said that they would not be pressing any charges, but you will be footing the hospital bill." Newt listened to all this with bated breath. The headmaster had yet to say what his actual punishment was to be but Newt couldn't help the deep-seated relief he felt from hearing they weren't going to expel him.

"You will face immediate suspension as the Board demands, and I have already sent an owl to inform your parents of the incident. A professor will escort you off the school premises tomorrow morning, and you will be boarding the Hogwarts Express at 10 am. Your mother will be there to pick you up when you arrive at King's Cross Station." Dippet raised the glasses back to his face and peered through them for inspection before he deemed them clean enough and placed them back on his nose.

"What about my exams, headmaster? It's only April, sir," Newt inquired. He would have to repeat the year if he failed them.

"Ah, I'm afraid there is no helping you there. You will need to repeat this year but let's not get ahead of ourselves. Dumbledore's proposal comes into play here." Dippet steepled his fingers together and looked at Newt thoughtfully over his reading glasses. "I have been corresponding with the headmaster of Ilvermorny, North America's school of witchcraft and wizardry, this semester. The relationship between the two schools has been latent these past few decades, and Headmaster Fontaine has expressed interest in reinstating the student exchange program to cultivate a better relationship between the American and British Wizarding communities." Newt could remember a very similar speech that Dippet had made at the start of term feast, but Newt had not been interested in participating. He found their American brethren to be somewhat bizarre in their backward, isolative laws regarding Muggles, and their ban on marriage between wizards and non-wizards disturbed him. Such restrictions led to inbreeding, which was already becoming a problem in the pureblood families in Britain.

"Dumbledore has brought it to my attention that the student who was supposed to go has been called home to her family in Munich and will be transferring to Durmstrang next year." Newt had read about the building tension in their neighbouring countries in the Daily Prophet. Rumours would have it that war was brewing, but Newt had always dismissed them as pessimistic warmongering.

"No other student has as of yet expressed an interest in taking her place in the program. You will be going instead," Dippet concluded, and Dumbledore's eyes twinkled.

"You're sending me to America?" Newt yelped in disbelief and added a quick 'sir' when he saw the stern look the headmaster gave him.

"It's either that or expulsion," Dippet offered and succeeded in knocking down any protests that Newt might have made.

"I'm going to America." Newt nodded hurriedly, and Dippet closed his eyes with weary acceptance.

"Good." Professor Dumbledore clapped his hands together, and Newt startled in surprise. He'd completely forgotten about the other man's presence. "I will bring you a Portkey on the 31st of July, so I recommend having said your farewells to your friends and relatives by then."

"You will need a wand permit. The Ministry will see to it that you're sent all the necessary forms." Newt nodded, only listening with half an ear to the headmaster's words. He'd not been expelled after all! Relief rushed through his body, and he let out a sigh as the tension was released.

"I can see you are tired, Mr Scamander. Some sleep will do you good, I think."

Dumbledore patted Newt on his shoulder again, and Newt held back a wince when the hand-shaped bruise Merrythought had left there throbbed.

"One more thing before you leave," Dippet warned as Newt stood up. "You will be representing Hogwarts, so you better be on your best behaviour. This is your last chance to redeem yourself, Mr Scamander. And for Merlin's sake: no more wild animals!"

"Of course, sir!" Newt acquiesced and dithered for a moment as Dumbledore gestured for the door, but Dippet continued to speak, so Newt stayed rooted to the spot.

"Ilvermorny will send you your school books during the summer holidays, and I expect you to have read them before you leave for America. Now get out of my sight before I change my mind, boy." Newt nodded his head in numb relief and thanked the headmaster. He followed Dumbledore out of the office, and they made their way down the spiralling staircase together.

"Well, let me escort you to your dormitory. I think you've had enough excitement for one day," Dumbledore broke the silence with a smile, his eyes twinkling. "Shall we?"

"Erm, yes. Thank you, sir," Newt stumbled over his words.

"Don't mention it, my boy." Dumbledore clapped, and Newt felt wrong-footed as they ambled down the corridor. Dumbledore whistled a song only he seemed to know as they walked but Newt was deep in thought, barely aware of his surroundings. It felt like only seconds had passed, but all too soon, Newt noticed the familiar painting of a bowl of fruit and he realised that they were already in the kitchen corridor and nearing the Hufflepuff Basement. Newt was filled with dread at the thought of facing his housemates, and he was tempted to turn around and visit the kitchen house-elves and ask if they would let him stay for the night.

"Here we are." Sure enough, they'd come to a stop in front of the familiar barrels that hid the entrance to the Hufflepuff common room. "I think it best you try and get some sleep. A little dreamless sleep is just what you are in need of." Dumbledore fished out a small flask of navy liquid from his robe and handed it to Newt with a twinkle in his sparkling blue eyes. He must have noticed the state of Newt's robes because he drew out his wand and cast a quick cleaning charm to get rid of the dried blood crusting Newt's robes.

"Here, have a Lemon Sherbet. I always find them to be a comfort after having a long day. Don't mind if I have one as well." Newt accepted the offered candy without a word but clutched it in his hand instead of popping it into his mouth as the professor did.

"Why are you being so nice to me?" He didn't want to sound ungrateful by questioning the man's motives but had to ask the question.

"My dear boy, it's all for the greater good. Now, I think there is a steaming cup of cocoa and a tray of ginger newts with my name on it. Have a pleasant evening, Mr Scamander." The professor bids him goodnight and set off in the direction of the kitchens, whistling along the way. Newt watched the professor disappear down the corridor, musing about his paradoxical nature; Dumbledore was in his prime and rumoured to be one of the greatest wizards of their time yet he behaved as if he were already reaching his one hundreds; full of cryptic riddles.

Newt wondered why Dumbledore would carry a sleep tonic in his pocket. He had no way of knowing that Newt would be in need of one tonight. It made little sense, and Newt would have pondered over it some more if he hadn't been so tired. Instead, he ended up writing it off as another one of Dumbledore's oddities.

Newt shook off the daze that had settled over him and stifled a massive yawn that left his eyes watering. He rubbed at his eyes despondently and tried to dispel some of the bone-deep exhaustion the day had left him with. Turning around, Newt found the barrels completely unchanged. It felt unsettling to see his surroundings untouched despite his whole world having been turned upside down. He'd come way too close to being expelled, and Newt was determined to turn over a new leaf. His resolve collapsed in the face of his exhaustion. He'd face what would come tomorrow when the time came.

Despite having settled his mind, Newt's hand hovered over the correct barrel in indecision. All he needed to do now was to knock on it in the right rhythm, and he'd be in. The trouble was, Newt didn't want to go in at all. His first choice would have been to avoid it all together, but he couldn't stand outside like an idiot without drawing suspicion. His housemates were bound to have heard something and put two-and-two together. It wasn't as if Newt wasn't already known as the strange kid with the obsession with animals. He'd been the butt of their cruel jokes often enough to know that most of them wouldn't believe a word he said. Not that all of Hufflepuff house were bullies, most of them were decent enough, but unfortunately, they did include an unpleasant crew of degenerates who took pleasure in reminding Newt of his unpopularity. They could all stuff themselves with hippogriff dung for all that Newt cared, but he didn't think he could handle another verbal assault without going to pieces.

"Merlin, get a hold of yourself," Newt muttered in self-disgust and knocked on the timber. The barrel lid slid open like a door and granted him entrance to the tunnel that would lead him to the Hufflepuff common room.

Most of the students were still in the common room despite the late hour. Probably waiting for some news, or maybe they were waiting to question him personally. Newt dearly hoped that they weren't. A hush fell over his housemates the moment Newt came into view. Newt strode resolutely towards the male dormitories, avoiding everyone's gaze and felt a flush crawl over his face when the whispering picked up again. No one called him out, and Newt took the steps down to the sixth year dormitories two at a time.

Newt's classmates were getting ready for bed. To his dismay, they all stopped what they were doing and eyed him with a new air of nervousness. Macmillan was the first to break the silence. He cleared his throat awkwardly and lowered his toothbrush, spitting into the sink before turning towards Newt.

"Is it true that you killed that Booth boy, Newt?" He asked, cleaning the froth away from his mouth with a wave of his wand.

"What? Of course not!" Newt exclaimed. It hurt to hear how little they thought of him. Did he look like a killer?

"Sorry, that's just what everyone's saying," Macmillan shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant but his eyes betrayed how unnerved he was. He stepped around Newt, giving him a wide berth as if he might catch something by coming too close. Newt watched silently as Macmillan settled down on Brown's bed, declaring on which side he was on. Us against them, and them, in this case, was the murderous Newt. The others stayed silent but were apparently just as eager to know the truth. Macmillan, who Newt was starting to think, was chosen by the others to be their undisputed leader to question him.

"They say that you set a feral animal on Booth and it ate him." Macmillan peered at Newt, obviously feeling much safer now that there was a four-poster bed between them and with the other boys at his back. Newt spluttered for a moment. Ate him? Despite being overgrown ferrets, Jarvey's preferred prey were rats and the occasional gnome, not humans. It was evident how little attention they paid to Care of Magical Creature, or they would have known that but Newt wasn't keen to enlighten them.

"I don't want to talk about it," Newt muttered in irritation and strode over to his bed. He crawled into it fully clothed and drew out his wand. There was a rustle from the other side of the room as the others shifted anxiously at the sight of it. Newt ignored them and stuck it between his teeth as he pulled at the laces of his shoes and tugged them off.

"So, you did do it," Macmillan prodded, but Newt knew he'd already made up his mind. Newt was the culprit here, and there was little Newt could say to dispel that idea. Newt spared them a glance as he threw his shoes onto the floor before turning onto his side and with a flick of his wand the curtain drew shut with a snap, casting Newt into darkness. He put a sticking charm on it and a minor repellent to ward away unwanted attention for good measure.

"I say he did it." The traitorous murmur still slipped past Newt's defences, and he snarled out a silencing charm. He didn't want to hear any more from them. Newt rolled onto his back and held his wand up to his face with a trembling hand. How close he'd come to having it snapped in two. Newt let out a shuddering breath and placed his wand carefully under his pillow. He tried to ignore the tears that slid down his cheeks. He didn't regret his choices, not yet at least.

Newt pulled out the flask from his pocket, shoved his pants off along with his socks and kicked them into the corner. He put the flask down briefly as he made quick work of unbuttoning his shirt. He bundled it up and threw it onto the pile. He didn't waste any time getting underneath the covers and grabbed the flask again, pulling the cork out with his teeth and spitting it out. He downed the potion in one go, grimacing when its sickly sweet taste assaulted his senses and lay on his back. Newt just wanted his mind to shut up and true to Dumbledore's words. He was out like a light before his head even hit the pillow.

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 ** _A/N_** : I originally published Rootless on ao3. You can keep track of updates on my Tumblr! (Links are in bio)


	2. Chapter 2 - Better You Than Me

_**A/N:**_ Aoibheall is pronounced as _Ah'veel._

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Newt rose from oblivion with a sharp jerk, breathing harshly as he tried to reorient himself. His tongue was glued to the roof of his mouth, and his eyes were crusted over with rheum. Newt rubbed at his eyes and smacked his lips, trying to get rid of the dryness and the foul taste of the sleep draught from his mouth. He let his hand fall away bonelessly and peered into the darkness. The curtain of his bed was still shut, and Newt guessed the silencing charm was still in effect since he couldn't hear anything from the dormitory. Hopefully, the others had already gone up for breakfast by now, and he would have some peace and quiet while he packed his things. Newt was surprised how numb he felt. He'd expected to relive the emotional roller coaster from yesterday the moment he woke up. With a sigh, Newt pushed these thoughts away and fumbled around in the darkness for his wand.

"Tempus," Newt murmured and a wisp of glowing smoke curled into the numbers 7 and 45. Fifteen minutes had passed since breakfast started and the Hufflepuff boys were early birds on most days, so Newt decided it was safe to get out of bed. He dispelled all his spells from the evening before and peeked out. The bright artificial sunlight stabbed Newt's eyes, and he squinted while his senses adjusted. He tumbled out of bed ungracefully and staggered towards the bathroom. Newt splashed some water on his face and shivered when the cold water dripped down his front. After drying himself off, he set out to find some clean clothes. It took him awhile, his brain still foggy from sleep. The sleep tonic had lasted longer than he anticipated. His movements were sluggish and his mind unfocused. This turned out to be a hindrance when he finally got around to gathering his belongings. He looked into every nook and cranny, as he didn't want to leave any of his things behind, but gave up after a third failed attempt at finding a missing sock, whipped out his wand, and tried to summon all of his stuff in one go. This turned out to be a big mistake because all of the things he'd already collected, along with his trunk and schoolbooks, rocketed towards him. Newt managed to cancel the spell before his trunk could do any lasting damage to him but he still got a face-full of clothes. A dirty sock flopped on the floor where it had shot out from under Macmillan's bed. Newt wisely put his wand away and set to cram his clothes back into his trunk manually. The house-elves had left his dirty clothes from yesterday alone since he hadn't bothered to throw them onto the floor. These went in first, and then he folded his clean clothes and threw them on top. It was quick work, and soon Newt had packed all of his belongings into his trunk. He sat on his bed for a moment, spinning his wand aimlessly between his fingers. He would come back to Hogwarts to take his N.E.W.T's, but there would be nothing left for him here. By then Leta would have graduated with the rest of their classmates and Newt was not well acquainted with the younger students. He didn't mind since he didn't really get along with other students and preferred the company of animals to that of his own species.

Newt reached over and tapped the lid of his trunk with his wand, shrinking it so it would comfortably fit in his pocket. He stood up and smoothed his hands down his slightly wrinkled vest and straightened his crooked tie. He cast the tempus charm again and saw that he still had some time to kill before being escorted to the Hogwarts Express. The thought of going to the Great Hall to eat sent a chill down his spine. Nothing good would come of it, and, besides, Newt felt too queasy to stomach a full English breakfast. Instead, he decided to visit the kitchens and say his goodbyes to the house-elves. He'd spent many late nights in their company, and they had become dear to him. He would miss them more than his fellow students. The elves were always happy to see him, and their enthusiasm and eagerness were contagious.

With his mind made up, Newt left the empty dormitory and trudged up the stairs that led to the Hufflepuff Basement. The circular room was warmly lit as always, with charmed sunlight streaming through false windows and a soft summer breeze tickling the leaves of the potted plants that were strategically placed along the wall. The cosiness of the decor never failed to put Newt at ease when he took the time to appreciate it. He'd always wondered if the other common rooms were as welcoming. He knew for a fact that the Slytherin dungeon was styled more for grandeur than comfort. Leta had snuck him in once during their second year, but the other Slytherins had caught them, and Newt had never made a second attempt.

"Scamander!" Elouise Smith, the captain of the Hufflepuff Quidditch team, was making her way towards him. She was a tall, freckled young woman, and a brilliant Beater. She'd pushed the team to victory many times during her tenure as captain, but her fervour often intimidated Newt. He still couldn't believe that he'd landed the Chaser position. Twenty other students had turned up to the try-out and Newt, too awkward to gain much recognition among his peers, hadn't been very hopeful, but Hufflepuff house valued skill above prestige, and he'd been selected to join the team.

"What's this Kettleburn tells me? He says that you're off the Quidditch team?" She came to a stop in front of him, and Newt felt himself shrink as he became the focal point of her intense gaze. "The rumour mill has finally lost its beans; they say you had a hand in Booth's mauling. That's a load of hogwash in my opinion. I remember the time you teared up after hitting a sparrow with the Quaffle during practice. You wouldn't hurt a fly, much less send another student to the hospital!" Smith's continued belief in his innocence would have been comforting, but Newt was guilty. He had injured Booth, however indirectly.

"It's true. What Kettleburn said; I, um, I'm leaving Hogwarts," Newt decided to bend the truth a little. "My mother is ill, and there's no one to take care of her at home." Newt felt horrible for lying to her, but his shame eclipsed the guilt. He'd always tried to do his best for the team, but now he'd failed them utterly. Hopefully, they wouldn't find out until he was already on the train.

"I'll be sad to see you go. We could have used your talents as a Chaser in the final match against Ravenclaw. Merlin knows that bastard Creek is going to be even more insufferable if they win," she grumbled, her fists clenched in fury at the mere thought. Matthew Creek was the captain of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team and Smiths' nemesis. There was an ongoing bet whether one of the two would murder the other or if they would let go of their rivalry and fall passionately in love. Morgan, the Hufflepuff Keeper, had started the whole thing and now almost every student in Hufflepuff house was in on the bet. Newt knew better than to participate because Smith was more likely to marry a Flobberworm than to show Creek any kindness and both parties were too honourable to attempt murder. Newt guessed he'd never know how things would turn out since both captains were graduating this year.

"Well, I wish your mother good health, Scamander. Hopefully, you'll be back next year in time for try-outs." She patted him on the shoulder gruffly, and Newt swayed a little from the force of it. Smith was a bit rough around the edges, but her intentions had been pure, and the well being of her team was always her priority.

"I'll see you again sometime, Smith!" She returned his wave and went over to join her gaggle of friends. They stopped their whispering the moment she was in hearing range, and one of them pointed towards Newt with a frown. Newt decided that it was time to leave before anyone else confronted him. He ignored suspicious looks as he made his way out of the common room undisturbed. Newt rounded the corner towards the exit of the Hufflepuff Basement and continued down the kitchen corridor. He quickly arrived at the painting of a bowl of fruits that hid the entrance to the kitchens and reached out to tickle the giant pear. It squirmed away with a giggle and turned into a doorknob which Newt turned and pushed the painting-turned-door open.

The house-elves were in full swing with serving breakfast for the entire school; the four tables were laden with bowls of steaming porridge, plates carrying thick stripes of bacon, hash browns and jugs full of coffee and pumpkin juice. Newt smiled when he saw the happy hive work in perfect synchrony.

"Mr Newt, sir!" A squeaky voice cried in delight as a short, bat-eared elf noticed Newt's presence. "What an honour to see you! You are hungry, sir? What can Bodry serve you, sir?"

"Hello, Bodry. How are you?" Newt asked as Bodry took his hand and led him towards a seat by an empty coffee table in their usual corner. It had taken Newt years to convince the elves to call him by his first name instead of 'Mr Scamander', and it had taken him another month to get Bodry to stop crying every time he used Newt's preferred title.

"Oh, you are kind to Bodry, sir. Bodry is feeling very well!" Tears were gathering in Bodry's eyes as they were wont to do when Newt enquired about his wellbeing. Newt smiled at the elf and patted the seat next to him in invitation. Bodry wiggled onto the seat happily, and other house-elves came to greet Newt and plied him with an assortment of his favourite foods. Newt welcomed the elves with the same fondness as he did Bodry and the poor things were quite overwhelmed, some even burst into tears when Newt wished them a good morning. Newt felt a kinship with the creatures as he too felt quite overwhelmed at times.

"What can Bodry do for Mr Newt today?" Bodry asked in delight, pushing a stack of steaming crumpets towards him excitedly. Newt didn't have to heart to decline the offer since he knew it would only distress them. He picked the smallest one of the bunch and nibbled at it.

"I came to say goodbye to you all." Newt glanced at the elf and saw how his eyes widened with heartbreak.

"Mr Newt is- is leaving us?" Bodry's lips trembled, and a hush fell over the kitchen as all the house-elves turned towards Newt in horror.

"I'm afraid so," Newt answered softly. If he'd known that the house-elves would react so strongly to his departure, he'd have tried to break it to them in a more gentle way. He hadn't thought that anyone at Hogwarts would miss him much.

"When will sir be leaving?" Bodry asked wetly, sniffing miserably into his pillowcase-toga.

"In less than an hour," Newt said softly, his eyes tearing up as well and Bodry wailed in denial, throwing himself onto the floor in despair. Some of the elves joined him, begging Mr Newt to stay, while the others started to pack a ridiculous amount of food in a wicker basket for Newt to take on his trip. Newt pushed himself away from the table and squatted down in front of the elf, pulling Bodry back into a standing position.

"Will sir be coming back?" Bodry asked hopefully, and Newt nodded with what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

"Of course, I can't go on for too long without your raspberry crumble, now can I?" Newt let the elf go, and Bodry threw his spindly arms around Newt's neck, blubbering into his shoulder helplessly. Newt patted him awkwardly on the back until Bodry pulled back. The elf rubbed his tear-stained eyes, trying to ebb the flow. It was an exercise in futility, and Bodry gave up and clasped his hands in front of his chest, looking up at Newt with red-rimmed eyes.

"Will sir promise to write us and tell us more about the Snorky?" He asked. Newt was surprised but smiled in delight. Last time he'd visited, he'd regaled them with tales of a Crumple-Horned Snorkack that lived in Sweden. He liked to tell them stories about magical creatures, mythical or otherwise, and they loved to listen.

"Of course, I'll tell you about all the adventures I will have in America as well if you like," Newt offered and Bodry clapped his hands in delight,

"Thank you, kind sir Newt!" Bodry cried out, and the other house-elves joined in on his clapping briefly, happy with the knowledge that Newt wouldn't forget them, and turned their attention back toward serving breakfast. Bodry had just stopped crying, and Newt was about to retake his seat when the door to the kitchen opened.

"I thought I'd find you here, Newt." Newt looked up as Leta Lestrange stepped into the room. Her dark hair was free from its usual knot, and Newt was struck by the memory of how infatuated he'd been with her in his third year. Her dark hair and eyes drew him in like a moth to an open flame but Newt had been burned enough times for his affection to ebb and turn platonic, but the memories hadn't faded.

He didn't miss the distasteful look Leta gave the house-elves and how she held her robes up like she was afraid to step into something dirty. It hit him again how much his friend had changed over the course of a few months.

Bodry carefully climbed down onto the floor again and huddled behind his chair nervously as Leta approached. Leta ignored the elf entirely and went to greet Newt. She ran her hand through his curly hair, and Newt wanted to shy away from her touch but sat still as she passed. She flung herself into the empty chair on his other side and slouched with her elbow on the table. Leta smiled at Newt, and they sat in tense silence, Newt unsure what to do with himself under Leta's sharp eyes. There was something off about her smile; it didn't reach her eyes, Newt realised with alarm. Her eyes were cold and completely blank, almost dead, the usual spark that lit them was absent, and it frightened Newt more than he was willing to admit. Something had been off with her ever since she'd returned to Hogwarts after having stayed with her father during the summer. Newt knew that her parents' marriage had been arranged, like most purebloods, and that they lived in separate manors, but Leta had insisted on staying with her father instead of her mother. Newt had refused to let his own mother's opinion of Mr Lestrange, knowing her deep distrust of dark wizards, affect him but doubt had wormed its way into his heart when Leta's letters started to dwindle. Newt had been a bit surprised when she greeted him on the Hogwarts Express like nothing was out of the ordinary. He also helped her without asking too many questions when she told him about the Jarvey she had smuggled into Hogwarts. He even agreed to take care of the creature for her although she now spent most of her time with her new Slytherin friends.

"Bodry will bake sir a crumble for him to take with him on his adventure, sir." Bodry bowed so low that his nose brushed his toes and Newt was about to thank the elf for his kindness, but Bodry was already scurrying away, shooting Leta a wary glance over his shoulder.

"Filth," Leta muttered under her breath, but Newt heard her. "What? You know what my upbringing was like, it's a force of habit." She defended herself when she saw Newt's accusing glare.

"You can't use that excuse forever, Leta," Newt said stonily, and she frowned at him.

"Don't be like that, Newt. You know I don't mean anything by it." Newt wasn't so sure anymore. Leta's humour had always been dark, and Newt had enjoyed it before, but something about it had warped, twisting into something lethal that set Newt on edge. She leaned over and grabbed his cold hand, stroking her thumb over the inside of his wrist gently. Newt avoided her eye and stared down determinedly at their entwined hands. Leta sighed and lifted his chin with a forefinger and forced him to meet her eyes.

"That's better. Let me see those pretty eyes of yours." Leta grinned at Newt, but her eyes remained dead. It made his skin crawl, and he clenched his jaw as Leta brushed his hair back. Her touch felt mocking in some way, and Newt didn't know when things had gotten so bad between them. Their relationship had been spiralling out of control ever since she'd smuggled in the Jarvey before that even; when Leta started to hang out with the Slytherin pureblood elite.

Newt wrenched out of Leta's hold and stood up to change seats, taking Bodry's vacant chair to face Leta. He felt better with some distance between them, his mind already clearing now that he was out of her reach. Leta frowned at him but didn't mention his apparent avoidance.

"It was courageous of you to take the blame like that. I knew I could count on you to do the right thing," Leta started smoothly as if nothing was out of the ordinary. "If my parents had heard that I was involved in some way, they would have been furious."

"Why did you do it? Why did you bring the Jarvey to Hogwarts? What on earth were you trying to accomplish?" Newt bit out, refusing to give her any of his sympathies before she gave him acceptable answers.

Leta's smile vanished entirely. "I told you, I found it and knew you could help me keep it safe until we could set it free."

Newt stared at Leta silently for a moment. She was lying, he could see it now, but he didn't have any clue why she felt the need to lie to him unless she was hiding something.

"We both know that that's not the entire story. I risked my entire future for you, Leta, they were going to expel me, so the least you can do is to tell me the truth!" Newt snapped, angered by her nonchalance.

"They didn't expel you?" Leta looked surprised, and Newt's stomach plummeted. She sounded oddly disappointed by the fact.

"The truth, Leta." Newt reminded her, his heart beating furiously in his chest. Newt hated this. He didn't like arguing, least of all with Leta. She straightened in her chair and watched Newt pensively for a moment.

"Alright, I did it for a bet," Leta admitted at last, and Newt was flummoxed.

"A bet? What sort of bet?" Newt asked, shaking his head in confusion and Leta sighed, looking vaguely embarrassed.

"Irma Crabbe said that you would never help me hide a wild beast on the risk of expulsion and I bet her that you would. You won me a thousand galleons, by the way." Newt stared at her in mute dismay. A silly bet on him was the cause of all this horror. Newt wouldn't have believed Leta capable of such maliciousness earlier that morning, but her true colours were starting to show.

"You are aware that a student nearly died and that they killed that poor creature?" He had to ask but knew the answer wouldn't please him.

"It was Booth's own fault for sticking his nose in where it didn't belong." Leta pouted unconvincingly but straightened when she saw Newt's look of outrage. "It is a shame about the Jarvey, though. Its talons earned me a pretty penny as potion ingredients, but it didn't deserve such an end."

Leta had been harvesting potion ingredients from it. How could Newt have been so stupid? He should have noticed that something was afoot. The Jarvey would always chitter angrily and belt out its worst profanities when Leta was around, but Newt had always assumed that its anger stemmed from Leta's involvement in its capture. Now, it became clear that its temper came from her clipping its claws and Merlin knows what else.

"Where did you find it?" To Newt's shame, his voice shook as he spoke and Leta pursed her lips in consideration. Probably thinking how much more truth she should spill, Newt thought spitefully.

"I bought it in Knockturn Ally." Newt could read between the lines and knew that Leta was referring to the black market profiting from the selling of magical creatures for illegal potion ingredients or as exotic pets. Leta was acutely aware of how much Newt abhorred the business since he regularly vented about the mistreatment of the creatures to her. The fact that she'd gone behind his back and bought an animal from those monsters, bought into their slavery, made Newt physically ill. This kind of betrayal from the person Newt had regarded as his closest friend and confidant struck him dumb with shock.

"Please don't be mad at me, you know I can't stand it when we part on bad terms." Leta stood up and reached out again. Newt was too numb to stop her from leaning down and pressing a chaste kiss to his forehead. "I'll send you an owl."

Leta bade Newt a farewell that he didn't return and left the kitchen. Newt stared after her, and he felt the first tugging of doubt in his chest. The place where her lips had touched his skin burned and Newt took in a deep shuddering breath. He would not cry, he told himself. His eyes burned despite all of his attempts to quell the urge and Newt pushed away from the table with a strangled gasp. He needed to get out of there. The ordinarily roomy kitchen felt claustrophobic, and Newt desperately wished for fresh air.

"Sir, Bodry made some crumble." Bodry appeared by Newt's side and pressed a small package into his limp hand.

"Th-thank you, Bodry. I will miss you," Newt said in a rush and clutched parcel to his chest. Bodry hugged Newt's leg and sobbed his goodbye's into his pants. Newt patted him on the shoulder gently; skin still crawling with the need to get out into the open air. Bodry sniffed wetly and let Newt go and waved him off as Newt walked away.

* * *

Newt still had some time to kill before he was expected in the Front Hall, so he headed towards the Owlery to tell his owl, Aoibheall, to fly home. His mother had named her and had thought it terribly amusing to call a screech owl after the legendary Irish banshee. The name was certainly apt since the owl had no reservation making her displeasure heard and his mother had spoiled the dear, much to Newt's frustrated amusement.

He took the steps leading up to the Owlery two at a time and was relieved to see that it was empty apart from its usual feathery inhabitants. Aoibheall sat upon her perch like a queen, her prominent feather tufts standing out like a magnificent crown. She stared around haughtily at the other occupants as if they were her disciples. She preened her speckled-feathered chest dismissively, obviously not impressed with what she saw. Her large amber eyes narrowed on Newt as he approached her, carefully avoiding the most of the droppings that covered the floor. She cooed at him questioningly but hopped onto his outstretched arm willingly and stretched out her leg, looking at him expectantly.

"No mail today I'm afraid, Aoibheall." The owl ruffled her feathered, shooting him a look as she set her leg down. Newt knew better than to attempt to stroke her. She'd only nip at his fingers for touching her carefully groomed feathers. She was a very vain bird, and Newt had probably fed her ego by complementing her sleek feathers and beautiful wingspan. She flapped her wings and jumped onto his shoulder and started to groom his hair like she would to her own fledgeling and Newt grinned. Though Aoibheall didn't like to appear to be anything other than superior to all other beings, she had a soft spot for Newt. He spent a moment to bask in her affection, eyes closed as she gently rearranged his strands to her liking with her beak. The moment was broken when a ruffled looking barn owl let out a particularly loud squawk. Aoibheall shot it a filthy look and Newt knew it was time to send her off before a fight broke out.

"Meet me at home. You know the way." Newt reached into his pocket and fed her some Owl Treats he kept in his robe. She picked at them daintily, still glaring daggers at the spooked owl, and took flight with a parting nuzzle as soon as she was done with the treats. She swooped down and used the object of her irritation as a springboard to gain momentum and soared out of the window. Newt watched her fly into the distance, feeling bereft. He fed the dazed bird some Owl Treats that it gobbled up before wobbling over to a perch and sticking its head under its wing in an attempt to catch some sleep.

Newt stayed by the window for a moment, having nothing better to do than to watch the students mill around on the school grounds, probably on break, and listening to the fluttering and cooing of the owls. Newt glanced at the clock tower when he felt that he'd stewed in self-pity for long enough. He blanched when he saw that it was already nine thirty. He made his way towards the Front Hall as fast as he could, nearly bowling over a gaggle of fourth years that were making their way up towards the Owlery. He yelled a hasty apology over his shoulder and received multiple rude hand-gestures in return. He tore up the path that led up to the castle, avoiding the watchful eyes of the students who were still dawdling outside.

The Front Hall was empty, and Newt had a moment of panic, thinking that he was too late and the professor had simply given up on waiting for him and had left.

"Ah, there you are, Mr Scamander." Newt turned around to see Professor Kettleburn limping towards him on his wooden leg. Silvanus Kettleburn was a middle-aged wizard with bushy hair that was already greying around his hairline. He taught Care of Magical Creatures at Hogwarts and was by far Newt's favourite teacher. Kettleburn shared Newt's enthusiasm and passion for all creatures, and they had spent hours together discussing various fantastic beasts. Kettleburn was an excellent teacher despite his intimidating hands-on approach that unnerved many students. Newt had learned more under his tutelage than in any other class he'd taken at Hogwarts. Kettleburn's teaching methods weren't risk-free and his fondness for dangerous beasts had lost him nearly all his fingers and his right leg.

"Come on boy, we don't have all day." Kettleburn hobbled past Newt and made his way down the front steps with remarkable speed. Newt hastened to catch up. They walked down the path at a brisk pace. Kettleburn grumbled under his breath as he staggered when his prosthetic leg caught between cracked cobblestones. Newt had to jog lightly to keep up with the professor.

"We're late!" Kettleburn complained but waved away Newt's apologies. "It's my own fault for losing track of time while I was cleaning out the Fire Crab cage. Merlin, they were certainly spry today! Nearly singed my eyebrows off, little buggers." Kettleburn smiled fondly, as one would when speaking of the mischief young children got up to. Newt hummed to show that he was paying attention. He knew better than to try and contribute to the conversation when Kettleburn was in such a hurry because it would only serve to distract him.

They reached the end of the path and Newt saw that a lone carriage was waiting for them by the gates. A winged Thestral stood in front of the carriage; its milky eyes watching the two men make their way towards it. Newt admired its skeletal body and dragon-like face. Thestrals were truly remarkable creatures, and Newt planned on writing his N.E.W.T thesis on the prejudice wizarding kind had against these magnificent creatures, especially regarding Thestrals' connection to death.

Kettleburn levered himself up onto the open carriage with a grunt and turned around to give Newt a hand. Newt had stopped to greet the creature, a mare from the Hogwarts herd. It sniffed at his palm curiously, wondering if he had something for her to eat but sadly Newt didn't make a habit of carrying around raw meat. He stroked his hand along her flank distractedly as he went to join Kettleburn. He accepted the professor's proffered hand and pulled himself up. He didn't notice the curious look Kettleburn sent him, still marvelling at the Thestral's outlandish features.

"Remarkable creatures, Thestrals," Kettleburn nodded in the direction of the creature. The Thestral set off at a steady pace in the direction of Hogsmeade Station. "Sadly, I can't see them for myself, so I've never had the opportunity to include them in my journal." Kettleburn withdrew a battered old leather-bound book from his robe pocket and opened it at random, showing Newt his illustrations of Bowtruckles. Newt smiled in wonder at the professor's skilled hand and asked if he could have a closer look.

"Of course." Kettleburn handed Newt the journal and let Newt peruse the pages to his heart's content. The paper was filled with vibrant illustrations of various fantastic creatures and the professor's own observations. Newt noticed that some of the pages only held scribbled writing and asked the professor why that was.

"There are creatures I haven't seen with my own two eyes and have only read about them in books, while other's didn't stay still enough for me to get a good look at them," Kettleburn said with mirth. He raised a hand with a shake of his head when Newt tried to return his journal and Newt hesitated but flicked through it, slower this time.

"It's truly a magnificent piece of work. Do you plan to get it published?" Newt asked with interest.

"No, it's just a hobby of mine. Sadly, there isn't much profit in trying to sell a book on magical creatures that isn't a guide to tame or exterminate them." Kettleburn smiled sadly, and Newt frowned.

"But that's precisely what the world needs! We need to educate our fellow wizards and witches and show them that these creatures are to be nurtured and protected not killed like common vermin!" Newt breathed harshly, unable to quench the anger he felt at his fellow wizards for their narrow-mindedness.

"I agree with you, my boy, but I am just one man." Professor Kettleburn slumped back into his seat with a gloomy sigh.

"One man can make a difference," Newt tried, but Kettleburn was already changing the subject.

"I have high hopes that you will." Newt couldn't help but feel that the professor was being unfair for pushing all the responsibility onto Newt - a sixteen-year-old student. "Now, you can see Thestrals," Kettleburn observed and succeeded in drawing Newt's attention. Newt feared that the professor would ask who he saw die. It was a conversation Newt hated to have, as it was one of his worst memories. When he was seven years old, his grandmother had suffered a stroke while he was visiting her. He could still remember clearly how she had stood up to get a cup of tea and collapsed like a puppet whose strings had been cut. She had died instantly, and Newt had sat there in shock until his mother had come to pick him up.

"Do you think you could draw it for me? Just a quick sketch so I get an idea what they look like. It's pitiful how no one has actually never thought to illustrate the creature!" Kettleburn handed Newt a battered old quill, the feather bent and ruffled from great use. Kettleburn showed him an entry where he'd apparently left space for a drawing in between his scribbles. Newt was grateful that the professor didn't pry into his private life and complied without complaint. Newt turned, so the Thestral was in eyesight and made quick work of drawing the Thestral's main features. Newt had a lot of practice drawing animals and nature, having countless of scrolls filled with his own doodling and illustrations of his observations. Kettleburn had succeeded to draw Newt out of his shell and momentarily forget his melancholy and both of them enjoyed the diversion.

All too soon the carriage drew to a halt in front of the train station, and Newt handed Kettleburn the journal, apologising for not having been able to complete the drawing.

"Think nothing of it, my boy. This is splendid work!" Kettleburn bade Newt farewell and wished him good fortune. "I expect to see you again for your N.E.W.T, young man. We shall make a great magizoologist out of you yet!" Newt thanked him and stumbled off the open carriage. He waved awkwardly as the Thestral turned around and pulled Kettleburn back towards the castle. Newt watched them, taking a moment to imprint Hogwarts in all its majesty into his memory.

The train blew its whistle to indicate it's departure and Newt turned his back on the view. He climbed aboard the Hogwarts Express without looking back.

* * *

Scepticalbutterbutt on Tumblr and TheShyOrator on AO3


	3. Chapter 3 - Homecoming

_**A/N:**_ Irish endearment used by Newt's mother - _A leanbh_ (uh LAN-uv): Literally means "my child".

* * *

It unsettled Newt to walk down the corridor of the empty train. He was so used to it being crammed with excited students travelling to and from Hogwarts. It reminded him eerily of the time his father had taken him and his older brother, Theseus, to see the abandoned ruins of an old village in Scotland. The remoteness would have been overwhelming if the Express hadn't been moving, its many compartments rattling as they were pulled along the tracks. Newt settled in a compartment near the end of the train and slumped down in the seat closest to the window. He felt hollow and adrift, the entire trip blurring into a haze as he gazed listlessly out of the window. Newt didn't even notice when the Scottish highlands became the English countryside, and they entered more urban settings.

His thoughts were a muddled mess, revolving around Leta, his mother and father and what the future had in store for him. This new Leta unnerved Newt; her manipulations had never been so blatant before. She'd always run hot and cold, leading him on before rebuffing him with an offhand comment, baiting him with sweet words and Newt had been too entangled in her web to notice her deceptions. After this last meeting, Newt could feel their friendship unravel. Now he had enough clarity to see her for what she really was. Her cruelty towards animals and disregard for his morals, the fact that she'd gone behind his back and made a deal with traffickers for the most shallow and self-serving reason was unforgivable. Newt decided that he would not answer her letter if she bothered to send one. Thinking of Leta had started to make Newt feel ill so he forced his attention to a more immediate problem – his parents.

Irene Scamander, née Finnigan, was a pureblood witch with light auburn hair, which both her sons had inherited. She had married Andrew Scamander, who was muggle-born, and they'd raised their two sons in a remote area surrounded by Mrs Scamander's famed Hippogriffs. Being around such intelligent and dangerous creatures on a daily basis had been very instructive and had instilled in them a healthy respect for magical beasts in general.

Newt's stomach was a clump of nerves when the Hogwarts Express rolled into the King's Cross Station. Gone were the crowds of waiting families and instead sat a lone figure on a bench. Newt saw the dark rings under his mother's eyes as he disembarked and felt another stab of guilt. Her ordinarily neat ringlets were untamed like she'd spent a sleepless night tossing and turning in bed and running her hands through it. Newt would be the first to admit that he was her favourite and it was upsetting to see that he'd yet again been a cause of distress.

Mrs Scamander stood up but did not smile when she saw her son like she usually did. Instead, she seemed to deflate at the sight of him. Newt felt a sliver of hope that she might forgive him someday since her first response hadn't been to immediately blow up in a fit of rage.

"I am sorry." Newt forwent their usual way of greeting since it seemed inappropriate under the current circumstances. Mrs Scamander sighed and tucked him underneath her arm, and Newt leaned into her embrace.

"I know, darling," she said softly with her lilting accent, her lips brushing against his hairline and Newt swallowed thickly. "We'll talk about it when we get home."

The only warning Newt got that his mother was about to Apparate them was the tightening of her arm around him. Then, they were vacuumed into time and space, forced through a rubber tube, and spat out onto the grounds of their family estate in a remote part of Western Ireland. Mrs Scamander's hold was the only thing that kept her son upright, and she barely gave him a chance to catch his breath before she started to walk up the gravel path that led towards the house.

"I was thinking about making a stew," she picked up where she had left off as if she hadn't just transported them to another country in the blink of an eye. Newt hummed his agreement and nodded.

The slate grey manor was perfectly rectangular with large white windowpanes. Stone steps led up to a green door with a heavy brass knocker by the entrance. The manor was warded against Muggles so they would only see a dense wood and be overcome with an overwhelming sensation that this was not the way they had intended to go. Dusk was falling rapidly, and Newt could only see the shrouded shapes of his mother's eldest Hippogriffs on their front lawn. There was no need to enclose them in a pen since they were quite content with their residence. He thought he could make out old Marigold in the distance, resting on the grass. Her silver plumage was impressive in the failing daylight, feather's gleaming in the last tendrils of the setting sun. She was his mother's oldest Hippogriff and the start of her career. Newt couldn't remember a time without the majestic beast keeping a watchful eye on the two mischievous brothers. He was tempted to go and greet her, but his mother seemed to have read his thoughts and tightened her grip to keep her son from straying. "You can go see her tomorrow, dear."

"I suppose," Newt mumbled and trailed after her. She tapped the door in a complex series of seemingly random patterns, which Newt had learned by heart at an early age, and there was a click when the bolt unlocked, and the door swung open. She ushered him inside and waved her wand as she closed the door behind them. The hall lit with a welcoming glow as the gas lamps turned on. They didn't have a house-elf despite his mother's pureblood upbringing as his father insisted that they were perfectly capable of getting by without a servant.

"Is father home yet?" Newt asked her as they took off their coats. She pursed her lips and tugged the gloves off her hands daintily and stored them in the pocket of her overcoat.

"No, he's still at the office, and I expect he'll be home late. Your father has been a bit stressed." Newt could tell his mother wasn't being entirely truthful because stress had been a constant companion of his father's since he took over the position as the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Most likely his father was furious and disappointed in him, but that was hardly a new development in their relationship. It still smarted how much his father disliked the idea of Newt becoming anything other than another carbon copy of himself and Newt knew that his disinterest in following in his footsteps, like his older brother had, bruised his father's pride.

"Where is your trunk, Newt?" His mother turned towards Newt with narrowed eyes when she finally took note of his lack of luggage and put her hands on her hips with pursed lips.

"Oh, don't worry, I have it here." Newt tucked his hand into his pocket and rummaged around for his shrunken trunk and opened his hand to display it on the flat of his palm. Mrs Scamander plucked it out from his grasp and restored it to its original size with a wave of her wand.

"Go put your things away while I get dinner started." She patted him on the cheek distractedly as she passed. Newt bent down and grabbed hold of his trunk and lugged it after him down the hall.

Newt was about to ascend the stairs when Bors, his father's ancient Kneazle, came streaking down the stairs with a harassed look. Newt stepped aside in alarm when Bors nearly crashed into him, but the feline didn't slow down. His lion-like tail pointed into the air as his claws raked on the floor, and he slipped in his haste to round the corner. Newt felt a twinge of disappointment that Bors hadn't greeted him in his usual fashion. Typically, the Kneazle would rub his body against Newt's shins with his back arched tightly in happiness to see him.

Bors odd behaviour was explained when twin balls of fur came rolling down the steps after him. The Scamander's family Puffskeins, Mauler and Hoppy, were utterly enamoured of Bors, a sentiment that was most definitely not returned. Newt stuck his foot out to stop their perilous descent, their stubby legs wiggling furiously as they tried to right themselves. Mauler managed to gain his footing first, breath wheezing in excitement, as the mustard coloured Puffskein tried futilely to climb up Newt's leg. Hoppy was close on his heels, only discernible from Mauler by her lighter shade of custard-coloured fur.

"Alright, calm down!" Newt laughed as their combined whining rose a pitch as they battled for his attention. Mauler lost his balance and toppled over Hoppy, bouncing twice before he regained his feet. Newt hurried to put his trunk down and threw his hand out, palm down and fingers spread. The Puffskeins froze and watched the appendage with rapt attention and for a split second Newt thought he had them, but suddenly the pair of them leaned back and stuck out their long thin tongues in an attempt to reach his hand. They wiggled them around in a disturbingly serpentine fashion, and Newt fought the urge to laugh.

"Merlin, it's like the pair of you get dumber every time I see you." Newt sighed in exasperation and let his hand fall in defeat. The spell broke, and the Puffskeins were back in action. Newt picked up his trunk before the fuzzballs could lay siege to it and made his way up the stairs. He knew it was cruel of him to do so because they had immense difficulty getting up the stairs on their short legs. He hoped that he would have enough time to stow his belongings while they were busy negotiating the steps. He turned right and hurried down the hall towards his bedroom. It was in the exact same condition he'd left it in when leaving for Hogwarts. Bed made, wizard and muggle books still on their respective shelves and empty inkwells littering his rickety old desk. Newt flung his trunk onto the bed and threw open the window to get rid of the musty air. He left his room, heart beating fast in his chest as he raced against time, trying to beat the Puffskeins. He needn't have worried because the pair hadn't even made it up the first flight of steps.

"Come along, let's go and help mummy get dinner ready." Newt took the steps down two at a time, and the Puffskeins matched his pace easily. They were much better at going down stairs than up. Sometimes Bors sped things up by pushing them down the stairs with his paw and amusing himself watching them bounce and roll before they'd try to scramble back up to him as if this was the most exciting game ever.

Predictably, the Puffskeins attention was already waning by the time they were only steps away from the kitchen. Luckily, for Mrs Scamander's sanity, Bors chose that moment to show his face again, and the Puffskeins immediately charged towards him. The Kneazle turned tail with a hiss and fled from sight while Newt watched in amusement. He decided to let them have their fun and joined his mother in the kitchen.

She was standing over a simmering pot, her cheeks flushed and skin shiny from the steam, as she oversaw the gathering of the ingredients with a swirl of her hazel wand. Vegetables sprang out of their charmed stasis-boxes, trotted over the counter and floated under the stream of the running tap to be cleaned and finally shed their skin with a flourish. With a flick of her wand, Mrs Scamander beckoned them over to the pot, amusing herself by making a turnip dance around its rim before it dived gracefully into the boiling water below.

"Can you help lay the table, dear?" Newt startled into action and flushed at the amused look it earned him from his mother. He remembered that his father was due to arrive later in the evening and grabbed three bowls from a cabinet and laid them on the dining table. Glasses followed, and Newt opened the drawer that contained the cutlery but faltered when he saw that it was completely empty.

"Erm, mummy, have you been polishing the silverware recently?" Newt asked over his shoulder.

"What, no. Why would you think that?" Newt sidestepped to show her the empty drawer. She peered into the drawer as if the mystery of the vanished silverware would unfold before her if she looked hard enough.

"How odd, your father's cufflinks were missing this morning as well," she informed him and raised her eyebrows at Newt with an impish smile. "Do you think our house has been invaded by Pixies?"

Newt shot her a doubtful look. A flock of Cornish Pixies residing in the house would hardly have gone unnoticed by her. The utter chaos the creatures wrought was hard to miss.

"Well, we could have a leprechaun on our hands." She conceded with a frown. Newt doubted it since leprechauns were more interested in fooling folks with faux gold or pilfering unsuspecting people of their left shoes if they were feeling particularly mischievous. "For now we can make do with these." She transformed a whisk and two ladles into three spoons and handed them to Newt before returning to the stove.

"How have you been?" Newt inquired his mother cautiously as he placed the spoons on the table. It didn't feel right to sit down while his mother was still working on preparing dinner, so Newt went to fill a jug with water to put on the table.

"Oh, I've been grand," she replied airily, guiding the carrots into the simmering pot with a swish of her wand. "Heather has been displaying some nesting behaviours, I think she's about to hatch out a young one soon." She looked over her shoulder to send him a smile, which Newt returned excitedly. Heather was one of his mother's more stubborn females who had never shown any inclination to breed. His mother had remained determined, refusing to give up hope, and kept Heather with the rest of the herd without even thinking about selling her. Heather's plumage was a magnificent gold, a rarity among the British Hippogriff breed that tended to display more muted colours of grey, brown and black. She had even featured a model for April on the Fancy Hippogriff Calendar wizards were so fond of. Mrs Scamander believed her colouring was a residual gene from her Griffin forefathers. Hippogriffs had evolved from a branch of Griffins that travelled north from Greece onto English soil thousands of years ago.

"Do you know who the sire is?" Newt asked curiously. Hippogriffs were notoriously picky creatures and would only choose whom they'd mate with themselves, making it hard for breeders to encourage the right pairs together to produce the best offspring. Mrs Scamander delighted in the challenge and was the most prosperous breeder of Hippogriffs in all of Europe.

"I suspect it is Grimalkin." She turned around to face him with that particular look that Newt associated with when people were about to dish out some exquisite piece of gossip. He'd seen that specific look on his mother many times before when she got together with her younger sister. They would bow their heads together conspiratorially and guffaw with laughter when one of them revealed something particularly scandalous to the other.

They ate their meal while Mrs Scamander told her son all about Heather's and Grimalkin's mating ritual, how the female had snubbed his first attempts but eyed his glossy black coat with appreciation from afar.

After dinner, Newt put their bowls in the sink. He itched to draw a bath since he hadn't had a chance to wash properly since the Jarvey escaped. His mother kept him from leaving by silently handing him a teacup and directing him to take a seat while she put the kettle on. The light atmosphere soured and turned into a pensive silence. Newt bit the inside of his cheek when his mother summoned a bottle of whiskey instead of her tin of tea leaves. The whistling of the kettle broke the silence and Newt knew that he wasn't off the hook yet despite his mother's earlier animated retelling of Heather's love life.

She poured herself two fingers of whiskey and filled the rest of the cup to the brim with steaming hot water. Newt declined her offer of pouring some into his cup and opted for milk instead.

"Now, I got a letter from your headmaster yesterday that informed me that my son had been expelled for smuggling an illegal creature onto school grounds and endangering a human life," she started seriously, and Newt found it difficult to meet her eye. "You can understand my confusion when I got another letter that retracted the earlier statement the same evening and instead you would be taking part in the student exchange program between Hogwarts and Ilvermorny. I just don't understand what happened, Newt. Explain it to me please, darling. I worry about you."

"I'm really sorry." Newt felt compelled to make his feelings on the situation clear again, and his mother sighed tiredly.

"I know, a leanbh." She wrapped her arm around his shoulder and pulled him into a tight hug. The endearment was something his grandmother was fond of using; refusing to speak anything but Gaelic to her descendants, and the habit had rubbed off onto her daughters. Newt took a shuddering breath as the familiarity of his mother's embrace washed over him. His mother always had an inexplicable ability to ground him with her touch. He suspected that it was a perk of motherhood and the ability stemmed from their calming touch as they comforted their babies or the feeling was only the remnant of having spent nine months enveloped in their nurturing womb. Newt's wandering mind was pulled back to the present when his mother pulled away and stroked a hand through his hair.

"I just wish you'd tell me what happened. I know you, and it can't be good for your health when you keep everything bottled up inside."

"I told them everything that happened," Newt told her, but she looked unconvinced.

"I don't think you did – not the entire truth – a mother knows," she insisted, and Newt felt the urge to blurt out the entire truth. He wanted to tell her about Leta's involvement and her betrayal but he couldn't out her now. This would be his last favour to Leta in return for all the years she had remained his friend when no one else had.

"I don't want to talk about it," Newt hedged, and she let out a defeated sigh. Newt really believed for a moment that she would drop the subject, but she merely pointed her finger at him in determination.

"I'm not happy about this, but I want you to know that I will always lend an ear when you're ready to come clean." She reached over to touch the back of his hands, and unlike the time Leta touched him that morning, Newt turned his palms up to squeeze his mother's fingers gently in return.

The telltale 'crack' of apparition outside startled them both. Mr Scamander had returned home from work earlier than they'd anticipated. Newt's stomach dropped, and he quickly untangled their hands and sat straight in his seat. His mother cleared her throat and took a deep draught from her watery whiskey blend as they settled into a stony silence while their ears strained to hear his father's progress. Newt could imagine hearing the gravel crunch under his shoes ominously and chided himself for being so melodramatic. His father might be angry with him but had never raised a hand to his family and Newt refused to believe that he would do so now.

"I'll speak to him once he's eaten his dinner," his mother promised Newt in a low voice and pushed herself away from the table decisively and rose to fetch her husband a bowl of stew and set it on the table by the seat next to her own. Newt's back was to the entrance hall so he could only hear when his father entered the house and sent his briefcase to his study with a quick charm, as he was wont to do. His mother sent Newt a reassuring smile when his father appeared in the doorway, and Newt tried to return it but felt his lips tug downwards into a grimace.

Newt felt his spine lock in place as he stared stiffly ahead, his stomach churning with sickening nerves. His father didn't even spare him a glance. He pressed a greeting kiss to his mother's forehead and thanked her for preparing dinner and settled down next to her. He ate in absolute silence, and Newt felt faint as his heart fluttered in his chest. It took him an embarrassing amount of time to work up the courage to try and excuse himself and leave the table.

"Thank you for a wonderful meal, mother. May I be excused?" Newt asked weakly, shooting his father a look to gauge his response. His mother nodded, and Newt rose with breathless relief.

"Sit." His father commanded coolly, and Newt let himself fall back down with a barely contained whimper. Damn. His father's fury was like ice, slow to build but deadly. Newt waited restlessly as his father emptied his bowl. His mother was frowning at her husband, her eyes boring into the side of his head as she tried to convey her displeasure at his conduct.

"Now." Mr Scamander pushed his bowl away with a controlled sweep. "I am at a loss, Newton."

Newt looked to his mother for help, but she was watching his father with mixed emotion. She was displeased with her husband's harshness but knew that her son needed to hear whatever his father was about to say.

"I didn't get expelled," Newt blurted but realised at once that it had been the wrong thing to say. His father's nostrils flared, and he seemed to tower over Newt despite his seated position.

"I was in the middle of a meeting with the Minister of Magic himself. Do you have any idea how humiliating it was to receive a letter from Hogwarts announcing that my son was going to be expelled for endangering a human life? I was mortified! Your brother never caused me as much trouble as you have. You're a bloody disgrace, Newton. When will you shape up and stop playing around with those ruddy animals? You've spoiled him Irene, and I've had quite enough of it. You will stop encouraging him at once!" Mr Scamander was red in the face, and Newt quailed underneath the force of his displeasure. His father despised the incumbent Minister of Magic, Archer Evermonde, for downsizing the Auror Department and thought him a poor replacement for Minister Crickerly, who incidentally had held Mr Scamander's current position before ascending to lead the Ministry. Newt knew that the embarrassment of having Minister Evermonde witness his son's dishonour must have added fuel to the fire of Mr Scamander's fury. "Go to your room. I don't want to see or hear from you for the rest of the evening, do you hear me?"

His mother puffed up in indignation at the mention of her name, and Newt knew he should take the opportunity and get out of harm's way before she blew up.

"Yes, sir," he choked out and hurried out of their sight. He caught the exasperated voice of his mother as she rounded on his father while he fled up the stairs to get out of earshot before he could hear them row. By the time he'd reached his room, his heart had started to calm, and anger was beginning to take over from fear. No child liked it when their parent shouted at them, and Newt was no exception. Did they really think that he was enjoying this? That he had purposefully set out to harm his fellow students? Newt was vibrating with barely contained anger, but he couldn't make a sound. The fear of his father kept him on a leash and prevented him from throwing a tantrum. Newt kicked the air in frustration and bit his fist when it didn't give him any release. Before Newt's mind had time to catch up, he'd grabbed one of the empty inkwells and hurled it out of the window with a snarl.

A split second later, Newt was reminded that he had a herd of Hippogriffs living in his backyard when an indignant squawk drifted through the air. Newt scampered over to the window and stuck his head outside. He peered down and let out a sigh of relief when he saw that the launched inkwell had hit no one. The Hippogriffs were sprawled in the far west area of the grounds, and they were staring suspiciously in the direction the inkwell had landed.

The anger drained from him, and Newt sagged against the window ledge feeling utterly defeated. His father detested him, and his mother was torn between love and disappointment. His only friend was the cause of all his strife and had betrayed him in the worst way possible. He didn't want to think of what Leta might have done to the Jarvey, but he had his suspicions.

All this ruminating was making him depressed, and Newt had neither the energy nor the audacity to risk his father's ire and take a much-wanted bath. Newt pulled his window shut and latched it tight before he threw himself face down onto the bed and rolled himself into the blankets like a sausage. He hoped to Merlin that he would fall into a dreamless sleep and he'd wake up back in his four-poster bed in Hogwarts.

* * *

Newt frowned and mumbled nonsensically as he struggled to grasp at the strands of consciousness. He knew instinctively that it was still an unholy hour to be awake and screwed his eyes shut, grumbling mulishly as he tugged at his blanket. His leg was icy cold, having slipped from underneath the blanket during sleep, and he kicked in a fruitless effort to cover it again. Newt was determined to get more sleep, but that was easier said than done because something was weighing him down. Newt startled when long strands of fur tickled his nostrils and a small excited chitter filtered through the silence. Newt knew that sound, and he opened his eyes groggily, his vision eclipsed by mustard-coloured fur and two gleaming eyes.

"Gah!" A long, slim tongue flicked out of the creature's mouth at lightning speed and slipped up Newt's right nostril in search of a booger. He sat bolt upright in his bed and yanked Mauler off his chest, the tongue slipping out of his nose with a disgusting slurp and the Puffskein rolled off the side of the bed with a muted thud.

"Why do we always need to do this, Mauler?" Newt sighed into his hands, rubbing his eyes furiously. This was not the first time he'd been rudely awoken by a Puffskein's tongue up his nostril, but it never stopped taking him by surprise. Mauler looked up at him innocently, his tongue poking out of his mouth in a ridiculous fashion and Newt snorted in amusement at the sight. "I thought I closed the door last night." How did the little fuzzball get in and how on earth did he manage to climb up onto the bed? Last time Newt had checked, Puffskeins weren't natural high jumpers. He let his hands fall as his eyes grew accustomed to the dim and he found the culprit. Bors was shamelessly lounging at the foot of the bed, yellow eyes blinking up at Newt lazily. The Kneezle had long since mastered the art of opening doors without the help of opposable thumbs and had made it a habit of doing random checkups on the slumbering family members in the dead of night. Mauler and Hoppy must have tagged along tonight since Bors knew better than to leave the door open.

Newt took pity on the Puffskein as it tried frantically to gain purchase on the slipping blanket, its stubby legs were a blur but its efforts were in vain, and the fabric was steadily getting dragged towards the edge of the bed. Newt leaned down and just as he was about to scoop Mauler up, Hoppy came rolling out from underneath the bed like an enormous dust bunny and knocked Mauler out of his hands and took his place, eagerly demanding Newt to lift her up. Newt tossed her onto the bed with a laugh, and she scuttled around it with glee, Bors batted his paw at her with an annoyed growl when she got too close. Mauler made a pitiful sound like someone was letting air out of a balloon as he resumed his assault on the blanket. Newt rescued the dolt before he could hurt himself and Mauler joined Hoppy in vying for Bors attention. Newt dropped onto his back and tugged the blanket up to his neck. The Puffskeins let out squeaks of surprise as their surface was yanked from underneath them. Mauler almost tumbled off the side again, but Newt's chaser reflexes saved him in the nick of time. Newt squished him to his chest above the blanket in a tight embrace and rubbed at Mauler's forehead with his thumb. The Puffskein's eyes bulged out of their sockets in pleasure, and he started to hum, his body vibrating like a small engine. Hoppy contended herself with wiggling underneath the blanket and push herself over Newt's shin to burrow herself into the space between his feet. Her fur tickled him, but Newt closed his eyes and tried to relax again. The warmth from Hoppy and Mauler had almost lulled Newt to sleep when he felt the mattress dip and heard rustling as Bors made his way to join them. Newt kept his eyes shut but lifted Mauler and pulled up the blanket to let him join his sister. Bors quickly took Mauler's place and curled up by Newt's collarbone, stretching out a paw and pressing it into Newt's cheek for a moment of solidarity and Newt couldn't help but smile. Even if he were an outcast among his family and peers, he would always have a place with his animal friends. The thought brought Newt great comfort as he slid back to sleep.


	4. Chapter 4 - So it Goes

_**A/N:**_ Minor character death

* * *

Newt woke up with a full bladder. He raised his head off the pillow with difficulty to peer at his clock. It was a quarter past five in the morning, and he stifled a groan of annoyance. Mauler and Hoppy had migrated down to the foot of the bed during the night, their fur tickling the soles of his feet. Bors had curled himself around Newt's pillow like a slumbering dragon guarding its treasure and snored wheezily into Newt's hair. Nature called and as much as Newt wanted to close his eyes and go back to sleep his bladder refused to be ignored. He disentangled himself from the sheets, careful to avoid rousing the Puffskeins, and rolled out of bed. The floor was cold, and he tiptoed to the bathroom, as quickly and silently as he could across the creaking floor.

Newt looked into the mirror while he washed his hands and grimaced when he saw his reflection. He'd never been preoccupied with his appearance, his brother being vain enough for both of them – always preening in front of reflecting surfaces like a peacock – but this morning he looked dreadful. Newt turned off the water and leaned against the basin. He poked at the bags underneath his bloodshot eyes. His irises weren't as vibrant a colour as Theseus' who had been gifted with his father's dark blue eyes while Newt's hazel were inherited from his mother's family. Similar to his brother, Newt's chest was broad from playing Quidditch, but his thinness and wiry muscles drew the attention away from it. Newt knew that if he were to lift his nightshirt, he would be able to count his ribs. Not exactly the epitome of society's standard of beauty. He was a freckled thing with too thick lips, and a haggard look from too much stress diminished what little attractiveness he might otherwise have held. He blinked and broke the connection between himself and the harsh critic that resided inside him. Newt tried for a smile, going through the motions, but it looked as foreign as it felt and he immediately dropped it.

He left the bathroom and returned to his room to get changed before heading down to the kitchen. Newt was terrified of meeting his parents before he could make it outside. He planned on grabbing an apple for breakfast and getting out of the house before his father woke up. Someone was already awake and in the kitchen and Newt peeked around the corner to make sure that it wasn't his father. It made him look silly because his mother spotted him at once and he sidled into the room sheepishly under her amused gaze.

"I couldn't find my measuring cups this morning while I was preparing the porridge." She gestured at the simmering cauldron, and Newt frowned. His mother liked to be precise in her cooking and only used her magic to measure ingredients as a last resort. "Did you take it to the barn again? You know I hate it when you use it for the feed."

"No, I haven't left the house since we arrived. Have you tried to summon it?" Newt asked with a frown and blushed at the wry look she sent him. She slammed the drawer shut with unnecessary force and looked through all of its neighbours with increasing frustration.

"Now this is just getting ridiculous," she muttered and shook her head in frustration. Newt didn't join her search because he knew she must have already combed the kitchen and it would annoy her if he looked where she'd already searched. "Well, it doesn't matter now; the porridge is almost ready."

They lapsed into silence, listening to the bubbling of the cauldron in the pale morning light. Newt was rolling his apple around on the table top when his mother deemed their breakfast ready. She waved her wand, and the cauldron leapt from the dying flame with a twirl too energetic to be suitable in the early hours. It pranced over the counter; the porridge slushing around inside it alarmingly without spilling. Newt was accustomed to his mother's showmanship in the kitchen and no longer felt the wonderment at seeing her magic. The bowls rolled out on cue, and the cauldron took to the air and poured a portion into each of the passing bowls.

"I spoke to your father yesterday," his mother stated. He looked at her in askance, remembering how that conversation had started last night and she grimaced in chagrin when she saw his dubious expression. "I know you two don't always see eye to eye but your father really cares about you, Newton. That's why he's taking your suspension so to heart. He's very proud of you – don't give me that look, darling. I know he is!" She swatted her son with the tea towel, and Newt ducked his head. "You should have seen him when you became Chaser for the Hufflepuff Quidditch team. Oh, he strutted around for days like a peacock and couldn't stop bragging about you. Honestly, it would have been quite embarrassing if it hadn't been so endearing."

Knowing this, however, didn't improve Newt's mood at all. It was disheartening to hear that his father only seemed to care about his accomplishments and not him as his son. His mother saw where Newt's thoughts were leading him because she pulled up a chair and sat down close to him. Newt turned towards her in surprise as she tried to tuck the curls from his forehead behind his ear. It was a futile effort since they stubbornly sprung back to their original place. Newt pulled away from her, feeling uncomfortable with her affections. His father was right; his behaviour was deplorable, and his mother shouldn't be coddling him so.

"He just needs some time to calm down, Newt. I know he can be awfully boorish at times, but he loves you," she pleaded for him to understand but he turned his face away. His father was much freer with his affections of Theseus and Newt couldn't understand why it was so difficult for his father to extend the same treatment to Newt if he genuinely cared for him.

"Well, he has a funny way of showing it," Newt muttered under his breath, and thankfully it didn't reach his mother's ears.

"Hm?" She sighed; half-heartedly patting his knee in encouragement and Newt lifted his head.

"Have you had any news from Theseus?" The change of subject was apparent, but Newt truly missed his brother, and the current conversation was making him feel more awkward than usual. He believed Theseus to be somewhere in Europe on some secret Ministry of Magic business. They always kept contact when they were apart but Newt hadn't heard anything from his brother since the beginning of April and weeks had passed with no new letter.

"Oh." His mother withdrew her hand and rose abruptly, turning her back to him as she put the tea towel away. Worry churned in Newt's gut as the silence drew out between the two of them. Had something happened to his brother? Newt knew that Theseus's chosen occupation was hazardous, but he refused to believe that his parents would keep him in the dark if his brother had been seriously injured.

"He was still in Siberia when we received an owl from him last week." Newt knew his mother was worried about his elder brother. She didn't like that her son had chosen such a dangerous line of work. Mrs Scamander wasn't particularly vocal about her fears, but Newt could see them in the way her mouth would tighten whenever the subject came up, and the way she would hug Theseus too tight for comfort whenever he left for a mission.

"He said that he would try and return for your birthday. You didn't hear that from me, dear. He wanted it to be a surprise." Her usual mischievousness returned, and Newt relaxed with a smile.

"I promise to act surprised when I see him," Newt smirked.

They dropped the subject and started on their breakfast. Newt was finishing his porridge when his mother spoke again, this time choosing a much more enjoyable topic. "Heather's been in a bit of a mood, so if you're going to visit her, I suggest you do so with caution. She's best left to her own devices right now, and Grimalkin has been badgering her – Merlin knows what he gets out of it! He nearly lost his eye to her claw last week when he tried to take her ferret."

After breakfast, his mother got ready to feed the Hippogriffs. Newt was always happy to help his mother with the morning feeding. They collected the Hippogriffs' meal from the storage, un-hooking a row of dead ferrets and attached them to their belts before heading out.

It took a moment for Newt to realise that Marigold was nowhere in sight. Instead, her eldest, Persephone, had taken Marigold's usual place in the herd. Newt must have gotten them confused in the darkness last night because Persephone was quite similar in colour and stature but nowhere near as mild as her mother in temper.

"Mum, where's Marigold?" Newt asked as his mother flung dead ferrets into the mouths of hungry Hippogriffs.

"Oh, she's taken to lie underneath the willow near Heather's lot," she replied in a mild voice. Newt chucked another ferret into Persephone's mouth, and she almost bit his finger in her eagerness to get at the meat. They trudged down the path towards the younger lot. The Hippogriffs were in a few different groups - the older animals tended to be annoyed by the rambunctiousness of the young ones.

His mother took charge of the feeding while Newt went to find Marigold. He found her by the leafless willow just as his mother had said and now that he could see the old lady he realised how much his mother had left out. The eyes were milky, and instead of her usual poise, she seemed to sag with the pull of gravity and old age. Fear and sadness stirred inside of Newt at seeing his old friend in such pitiable state. His emotions overwhelmed him, and weariness settled in. Newt didn't know how much more bad news he could take right now. Everything that could go awry seemed to do so. His mother joined him and tried to entice Marigold with a ferret, but the Hippogriff turned her head away in disinterest and closed her eyes again. Mrs Scamander set the carcass by her side and retreated.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Newt asked his mother's back. He couldn't see her face but knew that he would see the same exhaustion that he felt reflected back at him. She must have kept it from him in a misguided effort to shield him from the pain of knowing a loved one was suffering.

"I didn't want you to worry. You were at school with enough on your plate, darling." She reached over and squeezed his hand. Her voice was soft and remorseful, but she forced some cheer into it. "Her time will come when she's ready, and the best thing we can do is to ease her passing by letting her rest. There is no cure for old age." Newt caught the shakiness of her voice, and he hovered in inaction, caught between wanting to offer comfort and struck dumb by the sheer awkwardness he felt at his inadequacy. He had no clue what he should do if his mother shed tears in front of him and the knowledge served to make him feel even more useless. Thankfully, his mother pulled herself together before Newt could try and comfort her.

"I'm going to check up on my cabbage patch; those blasted gnomes have been chewing it up again!" She pulled away from him and gestured towards the greenhouse. "Be a dear and de-gnome the garden once you've finished here, there's a good lad."

"Of course, don't worry about it, mum." He watched her retreating figure until she was out of sight.

Newt lay down by Marigold, fearful of jostling her if he put any weight on her. She huffed and closed her eyes, her lids almost translucent and a mass of spidery veins. Her pearlescent feathers had dulled to a pale grey, and she must have stopped grooming herself because her usually preened feathers stuck out at odd angles and her coat was matted with dust. Newt dozed with his face turned up to catch the rare April sun and only stirred when the apparition of his father's departure startled him. He jolted upright with his fists raised in a boxer's stance; looking completely ridiculous, and Marigold opened one eye to stare at him resentfully for disturbing her.

Newt observed her for a moment in silence, his mind still half asleep, and decided that he couldn't stand to see her look so dishevelled. He went to get a bucket of water from their barn, Cuthbert the Ghoul wailing at the top of his lung when the creaking of the pipes woke him. Newt found a sponge among the mess of rusty equipment as well as a brush and a pair of gloves. Marigold was still lying in the shade of her tree, and Newt encouraged her to stand up so he could get better access to her coat.

After he'd brushed most of the dirt from the fur of her hindquarters, he put on the gloves and set to preen her feathers. He didn't want to strip her feathers of their natural water-repellent fats by doing it barehanded. She stood still, with her eyes closed, as Newt carefully washed her coat while humming tunelessly to himself. It was almost therapeutic, and Marigold seemed to gain energy from Newt's attention because she ate her ferret while he went to pour out the dirty water. Newt knew Marigold must have been very content because she stayed still and didn't even voice a complaint while he braided her tail. Finally, he turned the bucket upside down and sat on it facing her. She lay down and rested her forehead against his chest as he traced her feathers with his fingertips.

Newt smiled when he realised that she'd fallen asleep and left her to go and check up on Heather. There was no visible sign of pregnancy aside from her increased aggression. Heather was still ruling her generation, and Grimalkin was doing his best to act like her guard dog. He must have taken Newt for a possible threat because he advanced on him threateningly. Heather would have none of it, and Grimalkin couldn't even look in Newt's direction without her angry squawks. His mother was certainly right about the likelihood of them having mated since both of them fulfilled every instinctual behaviour of a nesting pair. Pregnancy had only made Heather louder, and Newt determined that it would be wise to just stop for a short while to avoid ruffling any feathers. Heather magnanimously let Newt stroke her beak, nudging her face into his palm for a brief moment before jerking away and charging at Grimalkin with flapping wings when she saw him lurking threateningly behind Newt.

Newt took a moment to stroll around the farm to greet everyone before he headed over to the garden to rid it of its pesky inhabitants. It took Newt a moment to push back memories that surfaced at the sight of gnomes. He'd gone once a week to the Hogwarts greenhouses and taken a gnome back to the Jarvey. It had posed a moral dilemma for him, as humans were not the natural predators of gnomes, so the poor things never stood a chance, but a quote from a book by a famous muggle zoologist that his father had once given him as a present had cleared his conscience - survival of the fittest.

He went through the familiar motions of de-gnoming, making sure to put an extra twist to the end of his throw so that the gnome would be too disoriented to find its way back to its burrow anytime soon. He didn't know what they got out of raiding his mother's vegetable patch since the little blighters could only digest roots of trees and worms. It was quite disgusting to see the result of their pillaging, regurgitated cabbage and turnips littering the sodden mud. He grabbed them by their spindly legs, wary of their sharp teeth and tossed them as far as he could in the direction of the field where the young ones were kept. The hatchlings liked to chase the gnomes and seemed to have a taste for them. The gnomes stood no chance against the Hippogriffs, their massive heads slowing them down.

There were more of them than he'd anticipated and he was just finishing up by the time his mother was calling him in for dinner.

* * *

The passing days blurred together in their mundanity except for Marigold's steady decline and strained meals when Mr Scamander was home from work. Newt stayed outdoors mostly, out of his father's way. The young wizard would rise with the sun and go out and explore the woods, and sit for hours on end reading in a clearing when it was dry and hiking miles when it rained. He caught a nasty cold in the middle of May when he'd risked a storm. Newt had decided that since he was already soaked from the rain, it was high time he searched the lake for the ever-elusive freshwater Plimpies – fully clothed. His mother had threatened to spank him when he came home sopping wet with a runny nose and demanded he go dry off and warm himself before he caught something. He'd spent weeks with a stuffy nose since his mother hadn't had the time to go and procure a Pepper-Up Potion.

Newt was brought back to reality in the middle of August when a fleet of prim-looking owls delivered his new schoolbooks. They came from the Educational Office, and a surly spotted owl waited impatiently for Newt to fill out his Wand Permit but softened a little when Mrs Scamander offered it a mouse. An envelope stamped with the Ilvermorny coat of arms carried Newt's list of required school things, all of which were very similar to those at Hogwarts'.

He was ecstatic to see that the first volume of three about the migration habits of dragons that he'd been itching to get his hands on was among the schoolbooks. The other books he'd received paled in comparison to it. There was a second book assigned to his Magical Creature course - a slim volume about troll behaviour which Newt would take a look at after he'd read the one on dragons. Newt quickly stuffed all the other books into his trunk and set off to the sitting room to find a nice chair to read in. In his excitement, he'd forgotten that his father was home from work for once and it was just his luck to choose the same place to read as him.

"There's no need to run away every time you see me, Newton," Mr Scamander sighed, closing the book he'd been reading and taking off his glasses to look at his son. Newt had been in the process of turning back from the room when his father had seen him and stopped short at the reprimand.

"Well, take a seat." His father gestured to the chair in front of his and Newt knew then that he wouldn't be reading anytime soon.

"Your mother thinks I was too harsh on you and that I should apologise," he started to say, and Newt knew that this was as much of an apology his father was capable of so he nodded hesitantly. "She may be right, but I worry about you, son. I know you don't get along with your classmates, but if you'd make some effort to fit in you wouldn't always be in such trouble. You need to shape up and shoulder some responsibility. How will you ever become a man if you waste all your time on silly beasts?" Newt wondered if his mother had ever heard his father speak of her beloved creatures like this and knew that it was unlikely since she would have tarred and feathered him for it. They sat in silence as Newt digested what his father was saying. Mr Scamander found him lacking in some way and wanted him to change for the benefits of others and behave in a way that his father considered normal for young men at Newt's age.

"I'll try, but I can't promise to be what you want me to be." Newt twisted his lips into a thin smile, and his father seemed to deflate.

"That's not what I want at all. I want you to have a bright future like Theseus." His father sighed and rubbed his forehead wearily. Newt suppressed a grimace. His father always brought up his brother when he was trying to make a point about his prospects. Newt didn't hold it against Theseus, and their relationship was sturdier than most other siblings Newt had seen. It became tiring to hear how he'd never amount to anything like his brother but Newt had learned to smile and let it roll off him like water off a duck.

Their talk left them both feeling awkward, and Newt knew his father would consider it rude of him if he'd try and leave soon after it. Instead, Newt propped open the book in his lap and decided to immerse himself in it. His father followed suit and the tense atmosphere ebbed as they both lost themselves in their reading. It wasn't until much later when Mrs Scamander came in from her outing in an upbeat mood that they looked up. She greeted them jauntily and pressed a kiss to Mr Scamander's forehead before swinging over to her son and depositing a small pouch into his hand from seemingly thin air. Newt recognised the material from that of a Mokeskine and knew that the outward size of the pouch was deceptive of what it could contain.

"I popped by Gringotts and had them convert some money to Dragots. It should cover all your expenses while you're out there." Newt stood up and hugged her, grabbing the book before it could slide off his lap. He knew that she had become anxious as the date of his departure neared. Newt had never left the British Isles in his life, and with Theseus so far away from home, Mrs Scamander became distressed at the thought of him going as well.

They sat back down, and Mrs Scamander took her husband's hand, and they spoke in hushed tones, which Newt tuned out in favour of returning to his book. His attention was only drawn from his book when an owl from the Ministry flew in. His father read the missive and excused himself to go and hunt down some documents for a colleague. His mother seemed to have something on her mind, and Newt closed his book when he couldn't ignore her fidgeting any longer. She sighed and moved to sit closer to him.

"I know you still haven't told the entire truth about that night, Newt. I had hoped that you would open up given some time, but it's been months! You're leaving for America soon, dear, and it will be hard enough without keeping all of this repressed. You can always talk to me," she implored

"I've told you everything there is to know!" Newt spit out, feeling harassed - why couldn't she just leave it. He knew that he'd taken the wrong tone because his mother's chest fanned out in indignation and her nostrils flared, and Newt knew that he was about to get chewed out.

"I know you, Newt. You wouldn't have hesitated if it were only you that was getting in trouble. Oh, I just know it's that Lestrange girl isn't it? She's just like her family –rotten to the core!" His mother accused. She had never approved his friendship with Leta. Mrs Scamander had attended Hogwarts with Leta's father and despised the man. She didn't want her child to get mixed up in that sort of company, especially Newt who already had a difficult time making connections.

"Well, luckily for you that's not going to be an issue now. Your son is back to being the social pariah of Hufflepuff. You won't have to see Leta again!"

"Newton, don't you dare turn this on me! I am not happy with any of it." She looked hurt by his accusation, and Newt felt ashamed. "She must have used you in some way, or else you wouldn't be acting like this. It's at times like these that I wish you had been sorted into my house. Ravenclaws can be reasoned with, but there is no arguing with sheer obstinacy!" It stung to hear his mother use his house against him. In the past, she'd often said he was too intelligent for Hufflepuff, but that had sounded like a compliment.

"Stop badgering me!" Newt's voice broke, and the irony of his choice of word escaped him. He didn't notice how he was backing away from her, but her proximity unnerved him. Newt knew that his mother would never physically lash out at him, but it was pure instinct to put distance between them.

"Can't you see I'm trying to help you?" she cried.

Newt didn't have an answer for her, but he still opened his mouth and lied. "I don't want your help-". The rest of his sentence was cut off by an outburst of animalistic screaming from outside. They both recognised the sound of battling Hippogriffs and from how high pitched the eagle-like screeches were it must be a brutal fight. They ran out, forgetting their argument, and hurtled down the path to Heather's lot.

The fight was over by the time they arrived. Grimalkin was limping away, and Tarron was bleeding from a cut on his face. Heather had broken them up and was pacing around Marigold's willow, brandishing bloodied claws and daring anyone to approach their fallen leader. Mrs Scamander's wailed and ran to Marigold, heedless of Heather's agitated wings. The sounds of his mother's cries would remain embedded in Newt's memories as she cradled Marigold's lifeless body in her arms. The fight must have broken out after Marigold's passing since there were no visible wounds on her. This kind of behaviour was not abnormal since Hippogriff's fought for the control of the herd, but unlike their horse counterparts, they only did so after the death of their current leader. Evidently Heather had taken over as the head of the herd.

Newt stood by his mother in shock with tears streaming down his face. He placed a hand on her rocking shoulder, and she wrenched him down to the ground to bury her face into his shoulder. They stayed there for what felt like hours, but the 'crack' of his father's return startled Newt. He didn't want his father to witness his tearstained face and gently detangled himself from his mother. She didn't react, and Newt seised the chance to retreat. He ran into the forest, stumbling over gnarled roots and loose rocks until he came to his favourite tree. He stayed there and tried to gain control of his emotions until he gave up and let himself weep.

Newt didn't return home until the sun rose the next day. He was dead on his feet by the time he was inside. His father was snoring in an armchair by the fire with his hand hanging limply to the side as if he'd fallen asleep holding his wife's hand. Mrs Scamander was still awake, her eyes bloodshot and her nose red from overusing her handkerchief. She kissed Newt's forehead and sent him up to bed, and he knew that all was forgiven.

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ I have no regrets


	5. Chapter 5 - A Thief in the Night

_**A/N:**_ Newt's grandmother only speaks Irish so imagine that everything she says and those speaking to her is in a foreign language unless otherwise is specified.

Máthair _/maw-hir/_ \- Irish for mother.

* * *

July turned into August, and the approaching date of Theseus's arrival cheered up the whole household. Mr Scamander had returned to his common treatment of Newt, and the air was no longer outright hostile between the two, but their conversations were still stilted. Mrs Scamander had taken Marigold's passing hard, but she too was coming back to life at the thought of her elder son's return.

There was still the problem of their mysterious thief, and Newt tried setting up traps around the house but had only succeeded in catching Mauler and Hoppy. He'd decided a more hands-on approach was needed after he released the pair of traumatised Puffskeins. Newt enlisted Bors to assist him with surveillance of the grounds at night but gave after the third time Bors left a dead Doxy on his pillow.

Newt was dead to the world when his brother arrived early on the morning of his birthday, having stayed up late reading. He didn't even twitch at their mother's squeal of joy and father's booming voice. Newt did, however, wake when Theseus burst into his room and glued his blanket to the ceiling before springing onto his bed.

"Morning, Artie!" Theseus bellowed in Newt's startled face. "Up an at'em, boy! Wasting the day away in bed like a slug? Shameful!"

"Urgh, go-way," Newt slurred and put his hand on his brother's face, trying to push him off his bed. He hated it when Theseus used that nickname. It was bad enough that his parents had named him after the maiden huntress in the first place.

"That's no way to greet your beloved brother is it now, brother mine?" Theseus adopted a hurt look, pressing closer to stare into Newt's eyes between the gaps of his fingers.

"Piss off, you great lout!" Newt pushed, but Theseus just laughed and shook him off, grabbing onto his shoulders and dragging Newt half off the bed.

"Mum has slaved away in the kitchen and made a feast fit for kings for your ungrateful arse." Theseus pointed at Newt and snapped his fingers impatiently. "Come on then. Get up, or I'll jinx you!"

Newt glare at him sullenly, unimpressed by his threat but struggled to stand up. He wasn't genuinely angry at his brother for being a prat and concealed his smile by dragging on a shirt.

"I don't know why I missed you. I must have forgotten what an insufferable git you are."

"You missed me? That's really sweet, you know. Now I have something to keep me warm during those cold nights sleeping in those awful trainee-tents," Theseus simpered, and Newt made a rude hand gesture. Theseus was six years Newt's senior, but he still behaved like a twelve-year-old whenever they got together.

Newt didn't bother to change out of his pyjama pants, and they bounded down the stairs, the enticing scent of cooking bacon luring them like a siren call. His brother's enthusiasm was infectious, and Newt was still bantering with him by the time they reached the kitchen, forgetting to be apprehensive at the prospect of having to spend more time than necessary with his father. Theseus was only staying for the day and then Newt himself would be leaving for America tomorrow on September the first. Newt enjoyed exploring new places and America was uncharted territory for him, but the thought still sent an icy jolt of dread and excitement to his gut.

Mr Scamander was in a good mood for once, happy to have his older son in his company, and Mrs Scamander was amusing herself by making the breakfast arrangement dance across the counters and roll into place on the dining room table.

Newt's family burst into song the moment they had all taken their seats, and he couldn't contain his smile. His family couldn't carry a tune to save their lives, and they weren't even in sync, but Newt didn't care. Theseus belched out the last notes hoarsely, and they tapered off into applause.

"Congratulations, darling! Have you done any magic now that you're of age?" Mrs Scamander pulled him into a tight side hug, rosy-cheeked and beaming.

"No, I'd entirely forgotten about it," Newt admitted sheepishly. It hadn't crossed his mind; he had been too distracted by Theseus' morning assault to do more than grab his wand out of habit.

"Well, you can light the candles on your cake." The seventeen candles that decorated Newt's birthday cake seemed like a fire hazard, and Newt hesitated before lighting them. Once lit, it looked like a small bonfire on top of the melting icing.

"This looks wonderful, mum." Newt smiled at her in gratitude, and she waved him off.

"You're coming of age, Newt. Of course, I wanted to make it special for you." It was a fantastic feeling to be able to use magic freely now, and Newt didn't care that he had to blow out the candles right away to save the cake. Everyone helped themselves to the food and Newt summoned everything to him with varied success until his father became annoyed after Newt stole a crumpet from under his hand for the second time, that he demanded he stop.

"You've outdone yourself this time, mum. This was absolutely spiffing!" Theseus patted his stomach in satisfaction. Their mother shot him a stern look. She hated it when he spoke like an upper-class brat, constantly chastening him for letting his indolent school friends rub off on him. Theseus just patted her hand and straightened, turning to Newt with a grin. "Now, it's time for your present. I picked this up on my travels in Bulgaria." He pulled a neatly wrapped package out from under his chair and handed it over to Newt.

Newt thanked him and pulled at the bow, unravelling it neatly, displaying what was inside. It was a navy blue coat made from soft wool, and Newt didn't hesitate to put it on, smiling at the perfect fit.

"It's fully equipped with extendable pockets and an undetectable inner pocket that can fit an entire elephant if you should wish it. Though I don't recommend you try it without putting a feather-light charm on the beast first unless you want to be crushed." Theseus advised him, and Newt rounded the table to pull his brother into a hug.

"Thank you, Theseus," Newt mumbled into his shoulder, and Theseus patted him on the back.

"I'm glad you like it," Theseus pulled back and turned Newt toward his father. "You still have a gift left."

Mr Scamander silently handed him a parcel with a tired smile. "Now, I know we haven't been on the best terms lately, and I regret that, son. But it's not every day my youngest turns seventeen. I hope you'll put this gift to good use."

Newt opened the parcel with trepidation, his heart beating in his chest. He had an inkling as to what was inside, but he wasn't sure if he deserved it after everything that had happened. Inside lay an ornate pocket watch, as was a custom in the Wizarding World to gift a fully-fledged wizard. Theseus had received a similar one on his 17th birthday.

"It was my father's." His mother smiled at Newt, and he sat down, feeling faint.

 _Newton Theseus Fido Finnigan_ was inscribed on the cover in looping letters.

"Thank you," he said and pulled his parents into an impulsive hug. His father flustered in the face of such heartfelt gratitude and patted him on the back roughly before pushing him back with a cough.

"Well, you're a grown man now. Behave like it." The moment was ruined, and Mrs Scamander stared at her husband in disbelief over Newt's bowed head. He stored the watch securely in the pocket of his new coat.

They drifted into the living room, Newt and his mother in front of the fireplace while Theseus and Mr Scamander sequestering themselves to the side, speaking in low tones, their faces grave. Newt strained his ears to hear what was being said but they were too far away. His mother was staring into space with a glazed look. She'd taken to sitting in pensive silence since Marigold's death. Newt doubted that her passing was the only thing on his mother's mind, but he didn't want to pry.

His grandmother was due to arrive in the evening for dinner, and Theseus didn't waste any time in grabbing Newt to go for a ride on one of the Hippogriffs.

"It's been ages since I've had any fun, Artie. I'm dying for a good jaunt around the old place," he'd declared and off they went.

They whiled the day away touring the sky on Hippogriffs and racing around on broomsticks, later challenging each other to a game of Chaser and Keeper, his brother defending a metal hoop that he'd conjured and levitated while Newt tried to score. It was nearing dinnertime when they called it a night and made their way back to the house. Their parents were mid-argument when they arrive, and they stood awkwardly in front of them, hoping to remain unnoticed until the argument had come to an end.

"Will you please behave yourself tonight?" Mrs Scamander was in the middle of disparaging her husband, and Mr Scamander pursed his lips mulishly.

"I will if she does," he muttered stubbornly in a childish complaint.

"For Merlin's sake, you're a grown man, aren't you? It's your own fault for refusing to go to her sister's wedding last year!" She growled, and he scowled back at her.

"It wasn't appropriate!"

"Don't you dare start this now! How many times do I need to tell you this to get it through that thick head of yours? Love is love no matter what gender! I swear if you don't start behaving like a wizard instead of a narrow-minded muggle I will hex you!" Newt knew his father found same-sex relationship discomforting. His mother had grown up in a pureblood family, yet she had a remarkably rounded view of life and was much more open-minded than his father about most things. She was headstrong and had quickly dispelled from her husband any notion of her being of the 'weaker' sex. Newt had often wondered how they'd fallen in love in the first place, being so different from one another. His mother despaired of his father's narrow-mindedness on a daily basis and would often comment on how much he has progressed since their first meeting. Newt couldn't imagine entering into a romantic relationship with a person who didn't share his ideology.

"I'm fine with it as long as they don't parade it around me. It's unnatural!" Mrs Scamander fell silent, her whole body quivering with rage. Newt had never seen her so furious before and even Theseus, who was usually quick to diffuse any tension, stayed quiet.

"Behave, or I will make you regret it," she said with finality.

"Alright, but I'm allowed to defend myself," Mr Scamander relented, and his wife raised her eyebrows at him, looking unimpressed.

"Suit yourself." Newt knew that his mother had won since his grandmother would eat his father alive if he tried to go up against her. She was a fierce old lady that had made many grown men quake in their boots.

The fireplace lit in forewarning, and Mrs Scamander fixed a smile on her face, sending once the last look of warning to her husband. A second later, Newt's grandmother stepped out of the flame, shaking soot off her robes and smiling at them in greeting. Moreen Finnigan was a stout old widow with short white hair. For some reason, her hunched form always reminded Newt of a wrinkled raisin, but she was remarkably spry for a woman in her one hundreds.

"Oh, how wonderful it is to see you, máthair!" Mrs Scamander swept her mother into a hug. Newt had never heard his grandmother speak a word of English in his entire life, refusing to speak anything but Irish even to those who had no way of understanding her. He'd learned the old language as a babe, and they all reverted to it in her presence, even his father who'd never gotten the hang of it, only speaking in broken sentences and resorting to body language and gestures more often than not.

"Aye, my wee flower, you're a sight for sore eyes. Now, where is the birthday boy?" They released each other and Newt found himself snared in a bone-crushing hug as well. Theseus waited his turn but quickly stole her away for a hug the moment she'd let go of his younger brother.

"Oh, aren't you both the handsomest lads. You've done a wonder with them, Irene." She patted Theseus on the cheek and dragged Newt down for another kiss.

"Now, where is that louse of a husband of yours?" She huffed, and Mr Scamander stepped forwards with a strained smile, aiming for civility but succeeded in only appearing constipated. He kissed the back of her hand, but she watched him in cold silence before greeting him with a simple: "Mr Scamander." She handed him her coat as if he were a servant before letting herself be guided into the dining hall.

Dinner turned out to be a pleasant affair. His father ate his meal in silence, and his grandmother saw it fit to ignore him, focusing all of her attention on her daughter and two grandsons. It wasn't until she broached the subject of Newt's transfer to Ilvermorny that his father piped up before anyone could answer her.

"He's been offered a scholarship there. We're all very proud of him," Mr Scamander boasted as if he was trying to convince himself of it as well.

"Oh, how wonderful. I knew my Newton was destined for great things the moment I laid my eyes on him. I always said he should have been a Ravenclaw like his mother, such an intelligent darling." She patted Newt's arm in fondness. "But your kindness must have earned you a place Hufflepuff, your grandfather's house," she whispered to him reassuringly.

It wasn't until much later when his grandmother was ready to go home, after having dessert and a glass of brandy, that she noticed something missing.

"My broach! It's gone!" She wailed, looking through the entire content of her coat's pocket with increasing distress. "It was pinned to the front, right here!"

"Are you certain you had it on you when you arrived?" Her daughter asked her, taking out her wand and casting a summoning charm to no avail.

"I haven't taken it off in fifty years, as you very well know," her mother said crossly. "It was the last anniversary gift your father gave me before he passed, bless his soul."

"Then it must be around here somewhere. Things have been going missing all this summer!" Mrs Scamander helped her mother put on her coat.

"I won't go as far as to accuse you of stealing, Mr Scamander. You may be primitive, but you aren't petty enough to rob your mother-in-law of her jewellery." Mr Scamander spluttered in outrage, but she'd already turned her back on him. "Don't worry, my child. You'll call on me once it's been found." She kissed them all goodbye except for her son-in-law and Flooed away.

Newt was saddened by how fast the day had flown by. Theseus departed soon after their grandmother had taken her leave. He'd made Newt swear that he'd keep sending him letters and let his mother embrace him for a full five minutes before quickly hugging his father. He had to Apparate back to the Ministry to catch his Portkey that would take him to somewhere Newt did not have the clearance to know.

* * *

Newt was roused from his sleep by a faint ringing sound. It reminded him of his mother's silver bell that she kept on a kitchen shelf. It was a relic from her childhood, as her mother had used to ring that bell to signal that dinner was ready. Newt could have sworn that his mother had just polished it last night by the fireplace and had set it down on the living room table. He got out of bed and turned on his lamp, creeping towards his door. The ringing stopped, and Newt froze with his hand on the doorknob. He was about to head back to bed when the bell rung again, this time much closer but something was muffling the sound. Newt looked down and saw a shadow under the gap of his door that moved. This must be the thief, right in front of his door! Newt wrenched the door open and saw a furry little critter with a long snout. A Niffler! It froze in place the moment Newt opened his door, and they stared into each other eyes. The Niffler stalled in mid-motion in its attempt to stuff the bell into his pouch.

"You thieving little bugger," Newt whispered in outrage, and the Niffler jolted into action, forcing the bell into its pouch and scampering off down the hall. Newt gave chase and followed it into the library. It dived out of Newt's way under a side table, and he overturned a chair in his haste to get to it, not noticing the racket he was making until his father came stomping down the stair with his wand aloft.

"Newton Artemis Fido Scamander, you will stop this nonsense this instance! I thought you were a burglar!" He bellowed, staring at his youngest angrily.

Newt started and knocked his head on the table and spent a moment doubled over, clutching at his head in pain. The Niffler wriggled away from Newt and shimmied behind a wooden chest in the cover of darkness without drawing Mr Scamander's attention.

"Apologies, father. I thought I heard a rat." He wheezed, rubbing at his scalp with tears in his eyes. His ears were ringing, and his heart was beating furiously in his chest from his hunt.

"A rat?" Mr Scamander pointed his wand with a look of distaste towards the old wooden chest the Niffler was currently hiding behind.

"I was wrong!" Newt jumped up and placed himself between his father's wand and the chest. He knew his father would take drastic measures if he'd see the Niffler, still smarting from his grandmother's insult. "Must have dreamt it."

"Then why on earth were you making such a racket?" His father rubbed a hand over his forehead wearily. Newt recognised the look on his face. He'd been on the receiving end of it far too many times to count and knew his father was asking a higher power to grant him patience. His expression reminded Newt of the occasion he came home one day after having rolled around in a puddle of mud. His father hadn't been impressed by the explanation that his son had given him. Newt had done it to be able to observe a pair of nesting Auguries in a tall alder without risking their detection and scaring them off. It was a once in a lifetime opportunity, but Mr Scamander did not share his son's enthusiasm.

Newt didn't have an answer for his father, but he was saved from coming up with a believable lie on the spot when his mother called down "Is everything alright, Andrew?"

"Yes, my love. It was only our younger son," Mr Scamander answered, eyeing Newt balefully with bloodshot eyes.

"Newt? What on earth is he doing up so late?"

"Hunting for rats. He's going to bed now, aren't you, son?" He directed the question to Newt and Newt had no choice but to nod. His father motioned him towards his room and Newt bid him good night, and his father closed the living room door after them.

Newt waited until he heard the door to his parent's room shut before he grabbed his new coat and snuck off into the library again. He'd decided that the best course of action was for him to tail the creature to find its burrow and hopefully find its stash of stolen goods.

The creature was nowhere to be found in the library, and Newt called it a night after he'd nearly knocked over his father's atlas in a bout of clumsiness fuelled by exhaustion. He had no intention of sleeping in, but his mind and body demanded respite after a long day and last night's pursuit. It was almost two o'clock when Mrs Scamander came to nudge him awake, fearing that he might be ill. She was in a right state when she saw that Newt hadn't even started to pack, demanding he ate his lunch first before getting a move on. She fussed over him like he was a child again and Newt was overwhelmed by her jitteriness. Newt was befuddled when his mother demanded he go take a bath, forgetting about his unpacked trunk. He was allowed a moment of relief, sinking into the water, letting his eyes close as he relaxed. It was, however, short-lived because his mother started to bang on the door, telling him to hurry up, twenty minutes later.

His mother's restlessness distracted Newt from his planning. He didn't dare to tackle the problem posed by the Niffler while she ran circles around him, giving him so many different orders that his head spun. From what he'd seen of the creature last night he could tell that it was an adolescent, due to its small size. He tried to be discreet about his searching, but Mrs Scamander sent a stinging hex at him every time she found him doing anything other than packing. It devolved into a mock duel when Newt realised that he could legally use magic to retaliate. He deflected the next one she sent at him but ended face down on the floor when she caught him off guard with a Leg-Locker Curse.

Newt finally closed his trunk; everything packed away neatly inside and pulled on his coat to admire its perfect fit again. He pulled out the pocket watch, still unable to believe that it was his, and admired the detail of the minuscule planets moving around the edges at a snail's pace. Newt was reminded of the time differences between Britain and America. Right now, he was five hours ahead, but tomorrow he would be in Ilvermorny. Newt focused on keeping his breathing steady, trying to calm his nerves before they got the better of him.

The sound of gravel being moved below his window brought him back to the presence. Newt stuck his head out the window in curiosity. He didn't have any difficulties spotting the Niffler since the little blighter was currently trying to force an ornate silver jewellery box underneath the house. It must have made a nest underneath the house, hidden from view behind the shrubbery. Newt didn't notice how far he'd leaned out of the window, too distracted by the creature's success, until gravity took its hold and Newt nearly toppled out. He caught himself in time, but the noise drew the Niffler's attention. It froze, much like it had last night, nose twitching, but it stayed rooted in place instead of retreating. Newt's pocket watch had slid out of his pocket and was dangling by its chain. The Niffler was instantly captivated by it, raising itself onto its hind legs and reaching up with its stubby paws and avaricious gleam in its eyes.

"Merlin, forgive me," Newt muttered, for what he was about to do would give his parents a seizure if they witnessed it. Summoning Charms were ineffective when used on living creatures, but his watch was another matter, and the Niffler was unlikely to let go if he caught hold of it. Newt unlatched the watch from its chain and dangled it as close to the ground as he could reach, which wasn't very far, taking careful aim and dropped it as he drew out his wand. The Niffler caught it, and Newt threw a summoning charm at his watch. It went as planned, the Niffler refused to let go of it and jerked up with it, the charm effortlessly whipping both the watch and the Niffler up into Newt's grip. He grabbed the Niffler by the scruff and righted himself. They studied each other silently for a moment, the Niffler holding onto its loot, little body trembling with the force of its pulse, its eyes never leaving Newt.

"I won't hurt you," Newt tried to assure the creature but its gaze sharpened at his voice and its struggles renewed. It simultaneously tried to wriggle from his hold and stuff Newt's watch into its pouch.

"Oh, no you don't." Newt grabbed his watch and tried to wrestle it out of the Niffler's grubby hands. It clung to it stubbornly by the tips of its clawed fingers, and Newt feared that it would leave marks on the silver. He almost had it, batting at its fingers, when someone knocked on his door.

"Newton, are you in there?" Newt almost dropped the Niffler in his surprise, and it let out a triumphant squeak. He caught it again and stuffed it into his extended pocket of his coat, along with his watch.

"Y-yes, come in," Newt answered his father and spun around. He held the pocket closed with a white-knuckled grip and did his best to clear his face of any guilt. The furrow between his father's brows told him he hadn't been very successful.

"Finished packing, I see."

"Yes," Newt said in a high voice. Something softened in his father's eyes, and his shoulders slumped.

"Nervous, are you? Your mother is stressed as well. You'll be very far away soon."

Newt nodded, looking down at his shoes. He was beyond grateful that his pocket stayed flat despite his new passenger, but he could feel the Niffler push against his hold. They stood in awkward silence for a moment before Mr Scamander drew in a breath and clapped his hands together.

"Well, I'll be joining you for an early dinner. Dumbledore isn't due to arrive until eleven o'clock, but I think your mother wants us to be together before you leave." Mr Scamander smiled at him, but Newt didn't share his enthusiasm. It meant that he couldn't leave their sight for long without them getting suspicious. He couldn't release the Niffler so close to the house or else it would merely return to raid their home for the rest of their valuables. Apparition was out of the question since the noise would draw his parent's attention. His father was waiting for him, and Newt turned around in the guise of getting his trunk and quickly sealed the pocket with a sticking charm underneath his breath. Newt blushed when he saw his father's pointed look and levitated the trunk in front of them. He kept forgetting that he was allowed to use magic now and it was starting to embarrass him.

Dinner was a muted affair. Mrs Scamander was usually the one to keep the conversation going, her husband and youngest son being men of few words. Theseus, on the other hand, was worse than her when he got going, words blurring together in his haste. He used to have a terrible stammer as a child before Mr Scamander had taken him to a mediwitch to have it fixed.

"Now, who wants to play a game of Gobstones?" Mrs Scamander stood up from her place by the table, sending their now empty plates to the sink with a flick of her wand, and looked down at them expectantly.

"What?" Newt was startled by the turn of event, having resigned to spend his last evening with his family in near silence.

"Hmm, why not." His father decided to indulge her. Newt had forgotten the times his father had played with Theseus and him when they were little boys. His father's playful side had receded after they went to Hogwarts, his stern authority taking its place. His mother shrieked with laughter as his father's face was covered in foul-smelling liquid yet again after she knocked his gobstone out of the circle. He had forgotten how terrible his father was at Wizarding games. The game brought out her competitive streak and Newt feared for his safety after he beat her during the first game but settled back to watch his parents compete with each other.

They were wrapping up, Newt being slaughtered yet again by his mother impeccable aim when Mr Scamander stood up from his armchair and frowned down at his watch.

"He should have been here by now. It's almost eleven!" his father grumbled, and Newt blinked in surprise. He'd managed to lose himself in the excitement, and it all came crashing down on him. He was supposed to depart for Ilvermorny in five minutes, and he still had the Niffler in his pocket. How could he have forgotten it!

As if summoned, a knock on the door announced the Deputy Headmaster's arrival. Mrs Scamander hurried to open the door while Newt stood rooted to the spot, debating how furious his father would be if he took out the Niffler and made a lunge for the Portkey so he could be whisked away before the repercussion caught up with him. The worst-case scenario would be if they sent him a Howler. Newt thought better of it because in all likelihood his mother would personally hunt him down to Ilvermorny and drag him back home by his ear.

"I apologise for my lateness. I had to take care of some business," Dumbledore said jovially, oblivious to Mr Scamander's unamused glare.

"Oh, think nothing of it, Professor. You're here now, and all that matters is for Newt to touch the Portkey before it departs without him." Irene smiled warmly at her former Transfiguration Professor. "Could I tempt you to a cup of tea, Professor?"

"My dear girl, call me Albus. It's been years since I was your professor." Dumbledore patted her on the arm with a charming smile. "I would be delighted but first, where is young Mr Scamander?"

"Here I am, sir." Newt waved, prompted by his father's elbow and quickly summoned his trunk. "I'm ready to go, whenever you are."

"Marvelous." Dumbledore clapped and withdrew a silver coin the size of Newt's fist from the pocket of his polka-dotted robes. Newt took a closer look and saw that the coin was stamped with the Ilvermorny coat of arms; a four-leafed clover with what must be the animals that represented Ilvermorny's houses on each leaf. Newt was distracted from deciphering what species they were by the sudden tickling sensation from his breast pocket. The Niffler was trying to escape again, and Newt just wanted the floor to swallow him up when he felt the eyes of all the occupants on him.

"Oh, have a wonderful time, Newt. I want a letter every week or so help me I will come and write them for you!" His mother risked a quick hug while his father tracked the arm of his watch, holding up his hand when they'd reached the last minute.

"Goodbye, son. Please behave," His father sent him a tired smile, which Newt returned. The last thing Newt saw before the Portkey jerked him away was the smiling faces of Professor Dumbledore and his teary mother waving at him.

"Now, I would like to take you up on that cup of tea you offered me, Irene."

 _Bugger._

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ Next Update will come after my final exams are over!


	6. Chapter 6 - Ilvermorny House

_Chapter 6 -_ Ilvermorny House

 _ **A/N:**_ "It's a Christmas miracle!" I say as I stumble in from the void, drunk and disorientated.

Someone throws a shoe in my face, yelling: "It's New Year's Eve, ya idjit!"

A belated present to you all!

Hey guys, Real Life kicked my door down and took me hostage. Warning: I've taken the liberty of creating a couple of OC's, both Ilvermorny students and staff alike, as well as borrowing some characters from another fandom - comment down below if you know who they are! I apologize in advance to anyone who's named Francis!

* * *

 **Recap**

"Goodbye, son. Please behave," His father sent him a tired smile, which Newt returned. The last thing Newt saw before the Portkey jerked him away was the smiling faces of Professor Dumbledore and his teary mother waving at him.

"Now, I would like to take you up on that cup of tea you offered me, Irene."

 _Bugger._

* * *

Newt's stomach lurched as the ground fell from underneath his feet and the Portkey launched him into the sky. It started to spin, quickly picking up speed as the Portkey cast him to another continent and Newt couldn't keep his eyes open for fear of losing his supper. This wasn't the first time he'd used one, but it had never felt so violent before; this must be what it felt like to be pelted from a canon and then caught in a never-ending hurricane. That's not what made the journey nerve-wracking; it was that there was no way for Newt to tell when he was supposed to let go; he'd either end up somewhere in the Atlantic if he let go too soon or the Pacific Ocean if he held on for too long. Thankfully, the Portkey did all the work for him because it suddenly stopped spinning and tossed him to the ground.

Alarmed shouts welcomed Newt as he landed in America. His feet buckled, and he sprawled onto his back as the world kept whirling around him, the coin still grasped tightly in his hand. The thick smell of forest vegetation tickled his nose and Newt looked up in wonderment. The world kept spinning for a moment, but Newt could make out the looming trees above him, and he was intrigued by their oddity. They were extremely tall, and their leaves were so sparse at the bottom that the branches closest to the ground were completely naked while their lush canopy blocked out the light from the sky. The soft pitter-patter of rain hitting leaves was calming, but the ground beneath him felt dry when he dug his fingers into it.

"Welcome to Ilvermorny, Mr Scamander!" A pair of hands reached down and pulled him up by his lapels. Newt blinked as he adjusted to the dimness, swaying as he was roughly dusted off. The man released him with a broad smile and patted him on the shoulder genially and introduced himself, "My name is Roderick Oxendine, Stewart of Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. My job is to make sure everyone arrives in one piece. You seem to be hale, but you gave the first years quite the scare."

That would explain the terrified screams Newt had heard when he landed. He'd Portkeyed straight into their path, and they were now staring up at him with wide eyes. His stomach turned, and Newt checked his inner pocket to see if the sticking charm was still in effect. Thankfully, it was.

"Buggering shite." Newt felt mortified when the profanity slipped out, but his predicament excused his foul language. Headmaster Dippet had been very clear in his warning, and the first thing Newt had done was to bring a Niffler to America. He felt ill when he realised that he might be expelled from Ilvermorney before school even started.

"Whoa there. Better not let the missus hear you speak like that," Mr Oxendine joked, but there was a stern note underneath his levity. "Not used to Portkeys then?"

"Erm, no. They give me a headache," Newt excused weakly. He felt the Niffler claw violently at the rim, and he gripped his sealed pocket with a white-knuckled grip. His heart was beating frantically in his chest as he attempted to hide his panic behind a reassuring smile but Mr Oxendine gave him a look that said he was reevaluating his opinion of him and Newt flushed. He'd only spent a moment in America, and he already disliked it; he was in for a long school year.

"Where is your uniform, boy?" Mr Oxendine asked sharply, and Newt couldn't help the immediate resentment that surged up at the term. He was seventeen, which made him a legal adult in the eyes of the Ministry, for Merlin's sake!

"I thought I'd have time to put it on before the sorting," Newt said stiffly. In truth, he hadn't dared to take off his coat because of the Niffler. His mother had brought him his uniform a week ago; Madam Malkin had apparently been ecstatic to tailor an Ilvermorny school uniform though she'd been very vocal about Hogwart's superiority despite its drab uniforms.

"Well, nothing we can do about it now, the Deputy Headmistress will be here to collect you along with the first years in a moment and escort you to the Sorting Ceremony," Mr Oxendine said and turned to face the stream of arriving students. Newt looked past him in wonder. Four enormous trees with trunks that were wider than his height rose from the ground, and each one was set with a doorway which the arriving students streamed through in single files. Newt watched as some gathered around the trees as they waited for their friends before setting off up a woodland path after exchanging exuberant greetings. He caught their overt whispering and elbowing that were followed by pointed looks when they passed him, and he turned towards Mr Oxendine in the hopes of a distraction.

"That'll be the last of the last of the Northern branch," the Steward said when one of the doors shut, revealing an ornate letter 'N' embedded in the trunk. The trickle of students was slowing until the last stragglers came running through, their school-robes billowing and red in the face. Newt figured that the gateway in the trees acted much like a vanishing cabinet and they had to walk a certain length to pass through the barrier that connected the two doors. Mr Oxendine caught his look of interest and offered a brief explanation, "These are Giant Sequoias; not local here in Massachusetts but none of our trees were big enough to handle the influx of the new generations. We're an ever-expanding community, Mr Scamander," Mr Oxendine said with pride. "The students gather in the embassy closest to their residence and are let through the entrance at six o'clock when Ilvermorny opens its doorway."

"Where are we exactly?" Newt asked him, ignoring the discomfort brewing in his stomach at the passing student's attention. He should have put on the blasted uniform; Niffler be damned. Newt shifted his stance and looked down when his foot connected with his trunk. He bent down to retrieve it and was about to cast a levitation charm on it so he could avoid carrying it up to the castle when Mr Oxendine halted him.

"Why, we're standing on the hillside of Mount Greylock, Mr Scamander. There's no need to carry your luggage, just leave it with the other," Mr Oxendine said distractedly, gesturing at a growing mountain of student baggage, and Newt saw that his eyes were riveted on a tall, dark-haired witch that was approaching them. She was wearing a pointed, star-spangled hat and a dark green robe that appeared black in the shadows.

She sent the Stewart a quick smile before calling over the group, "First Years over here! Gather round!" The youngest students huddled closer together like a wary herd of deer when her eyes landed on them, and Mr Oxendine nudged Newt over to her to join them after he'd sent his trunk flying to join its kind. "My name is Dyani Oxendine, Deputy Headmistress of Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I will escort you to the Sorting Hall, and there you will be sorted into your respective houses."

Newt saw how she eyed his attire and knew that she was marking him as a troublemaker. He'd gotten the look enough times to know that when someone passed judgment on him. He would need to be careful around her because the last thing he needed was for her to send Headmaster Dippet a complaint that the student he'd sent her was unable to follow the dress code.

"Hello, you must be Mister Scamander, our new exchange student. I hope your time with us will be as enjoyable as in Hogwarts," The Deputy Headmistress greeted him with a tight-lipped smile, but Newt privately hoped that Ilvermorny would be more welcoming than Hogwart. The first years burst out in excited whispers. Newt caught the word 'Hogwarts' and felt a grin tug on his lips despite himself at their almost reverent tone.

"Ah, yes, Professor." Newt's spine jerked into a half bow before he could stop himself. "Terribly sorry about my clothes. I thought I'd have time to change before the sorting began but I see that I was mistaken." He trailed off and dithered for a moment, unsure if he should shake her hand or bow again. He was terrified that she'd somehow find out that he had a wild animal in his pocket and deported him immediately.

She seemed to take pity on him and waved away his apologies. "There's no harm done, Mr Scamander. See to it that it doesn't happen again; Ilvermorny keeps a strict dress code once classes start." She turned back to the group and ordered them into a straight line and led them up a narrow path that split from the rest of the students.

"Excuse me, Professor. Shouldn't we follow the others?" A small girl piped up from the back, shooting the gnarled roots by her feet a wary look.

"The Sorting Hall is adjacent to the castle itself so we shall enter through another passage. The older students will enter from the Great Hall to watch the proceedings," Professor Oxendine said, and Newt's mood soured further. He could still remember his sorting from his first year at Hogwarts, and he wasn't looking forward to a repeat performance. He'd gotten better at hiding his discomfort, but he dreaded the moment he'd be thrust into the spotlight.

The Niffler chose that moment to release another barrage of attacks in an attempt to escape. It clawed at the insides of Newt's pocket but its sharp claws were harmless through the fabric, and it felt like a flurry of fingers were brushing down his chest. Newt squirmed at the strange sensation, and the dark-skinned boy beside him shot him a look filled with distrust and ushered his friends further away from him. Newt watched them and was amused to see how the boy tried to shield his friend, a small, timid looking boy, from him. The Niffler claws tickled him again, and Newt clamped his mouth shut to keep from squealing as he pulled the coat from his chest.

The first years avoided him for the rest of the way, but Newt was too distracted to notice. He didn't pay attention to where they were going until the path grew so steep that he slipped on the leaf-strewn ground. He caught himself in time and saw that he wasn't the only one in danger of falling, the children squealing and laughing as their friends planted on their backsides as the ends of their robes tripped them. They reached a sharp turn on the path and were relieved to see that there were steps made of halved logs to assist their ascend. The Deputy Headmistress took out her wand, and the children gasped as a thick root rose from the earth and curved up in a parody of a handrail for them to hold onto as they climbed. Newt took the stairs last; ready to grab anyone who slipped on the wet steps, and looked away when he saw the approval on the Professor's face. Everyone made it safely up to the top, and they soon came to a gravel path as the trees started to thin. Rain drizzled on them when the canopy could no longer act as a barrier, and Newts pulled up the collar of his coat to ward off the cold drops sliding down his neck.

The Castle's turrets became visible through the shroud cast by the grey sky, and Newt thought he could make out slight similarities to Hogwarts in its build. It was as if someone had tried to rebuild the castle with only vague descriptions to go by, but he dismissed the thought when he came close enough to see it more clearly was much more modern and sleek in design; its walls were light grey and the tiled roof a pale blue. There was no Great Courtyard in sight, and a tall fence surrounded the school grounds instead of a Forbidden Forest. Ilvermorny was no less impressive than Hogwarts and Newt could almost feel the magic emanate from the castle; light and fluid where Hogwarts ancient wards were laden with layer after layer of protective magic. Newt could see the older students enter through an ornate gate on the far side of the castle. A classic Celtic Knot sat on top as an embellishment of the gate and Newt watched as the crowd of students disappeared through the main entrance of the school.

"Welcome to Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." Professor Oxendine came to a stop in front of a smaller gate and turned around to take in their awed expressions. "As some of you may already know, Ilvermorny has close ties with Pukwudgies, as our founder, Isolt Sayer, befriended one of their forefathers centuries ago. They have a permanent residence here, so I urge you to treat them with the same respect you give your schoolmates. Break this rule, and there will be serious repercussions," she said sternly, meeting each of their eyes to see if her warning had sunken in before continuing. "There's no need to worry though as they tend to keep to themselves."

Newt's interest was piqued. He'd only read about Pukewudgies. They were distant relatives of the European Goblins and tended to either help or play tricks on people. He was disappointed that there were no creatures in sight on the school grounds, but Newt reassured himself that he would seek them out later.

Professor Oxendine let them in through the gate and led them to the Sorting Hall. It was a smaller chamber with a domed ceiling made of stained glass. Newt's neck strained as he looked up at the ceiling. A small amount of light filtered in through the white glass of constellations that covered the otherwise dark blue and purple glass. The other source of light was from the room on the other side of a pair of double-doors, through which the older students were streaming and making their way up the staircases on opposite sides to a balcony that stretched all around the room. Newt averted his eyes when he saw that the teachers were there as well, standing closest to the rail and looking down on them, and his gaze was immediately drawn to four enormous statues that depicted the same creatures that formed the Ilvermorny Crest. Professor Oxendine ushered the new students into an orderly half-circle in front of them, and the loud chatter ebbed until they were left in complete silence.

"Now, each of you will be sorted into one of the four houses. Wampus is the house of warriors and body. The Horned Serpent will suit those that value the strength of minds, as it is the house of scholars. Pukwudgie is the house of healers and represents the element of the heart, and last but not least Thunderbird, the house of adventurers and those with thrill-seeking souls." The Deputy Headmistress ended her statement with a smile and gestured to the floor in front of them. "When I call your names, you will go and stand on the star in front of the four statues, and they will evaluate which house you belong to. The statue will let you know their decision, and you will retake your seat. In rare cases, more than one statue offers you a place in their respective house's, and you may choose whichever one you like if that occurs," Professor Oxendine explained and seemed surprised when a hand shot up. It was the same girl who'd questioned her direction in the forest, and there was a determined light in her eyes when the Professor nodded to her in encouragement.

"What house were you in, Professor?" she asked, a light flush crawling up her neck when the entire school's attention rested on her.

"I am Head of the Horned Serpent," Professor Oxendine answered with a warm smile and then spoke to the rest of the students. "Your new Head of house will greet you after the welcoming feast. Now, let's get you all sorted!" She withdrew a scroll from her sleeve and called out the first name after unrolling the parchment.

The first student was accepted into Pukewudgie, and Newt smiled at the awed murmur that travelled through the children beside him when the statue grew animated and drew its bow into the air. He blinked when he felt the floor shake as the older students stomped their applause as the Pukwudgie crest appeared on the new student's robes. The clapping dimmed when Professor Oxendine called out the next name and one after the other, the first years were sorted, and each gaining ear-splitting cheers as their new crest appeared on their school uniforms. Newt wasn't surprised when the gutsy girl found her place in Wampus.

He wondered which house he'd be sorted into. He didn't feel brave or smart at that moment - the Niffler raked his claw against the fabric of Newt's pocket as a reminder of its presence, and Newt detected a hint of petulance in the motion - and Newt had never been good at taking care of himself.

"Byers, Will!" Professor Oxendine called, and the small, timid looking boy from earlier stepped hesitantly forward. He came to a halt in front of the four statues, and his friends waited with bated breath. Suddenly, the jewel fitted to the carved Horned Serpent's forehead glowed, and Byers jumped in surprise as the stamping cheer sounded above them. He flushed and hurried back to his place, smiling when Professor Oxendine had to quiet his friends before she could continue. A Dustin Henderson was next of the four friends to be sorted, and he quickly joined Byer's in the Horned Serpent. The sorting went on, and Jane Ives was the next of the first years to be put into the Horned Serpent house, and Henderson cheered loudly for her, already swept up into House pride.

"Scamander, Newton!" Professor Oxendine called and the audience hushed when Newt stepped forwards. Adrenaline coursed through Newt's veins, and he strode forward confidently despite feeling gangly and awkward compared to the small first years. His ears heated unbearably and his ears rang in the near silence as he came to a stop on the star and stared straight ahead. He could tell everyone was curious to see what the statues would do with an older student, and Newt waited with the same anticipation. He watched the stone figures, growing more aware of his own body by the second, the trembling in his finger, and the tightness in his chest, and the uncomfortable warmth as more blood filtered to his face. Suddenly, all four of the statues grew animated, and Newt gaped in surprise. He would be allowed to pick, and Newt reckoned it was because he was much older, so his personality was more developed than an eleven-year-old.

Newt knew that the sooner he chose, the sooner he could fade into obscurity. His mind was utterly blank, and he settled on going with his gut feeling and took faltering steps towards the towering statue of the Thunderbird, its wings spread wide in pride. He touched its base, and the crowd went wild, hitting a new height and a grin split across Newt's face; an adventure sounded just like what he was in need of. He felt much lighter as he returned to his place and focused on regaining his breath when Professor Oxendine continued the sorting.

"Sinclair, Lucas!" The distrustful boy stepped away from his friends, his face set with determination, and took his place in front of the statues. They waited for a moment until the Wampus's deafening roar split through the air. Sinclair's friends' cheer had lost its exuberance, but they clapped nonetheless, bumping shoulders with him when Sinclair returned to stand beside them despite now bearing the Wampus crest. Mike Wheeler was the last to be sorted, the last of Sinclair's friends, and the boys clapped when he quickly joined the others into Horned Serpent. Newt had witnessed friends being split up into different houses before but knew that being divided couldn't break a genuine friendship.

Newt was growing lightheaded with relief and was grounded by the sound of their audiences descent, chatter filling the Sorting Hall again as they followed the teachers out, excited at the prospect of food.

"Congratulations, now that we're all sorted, the Feast can start!" Professor Oxendine clapped her hands together. She waited until they were the last in Sorting Hall before herding the first years, along with Newt, out the same door. Newt was expecting to see a hallway on the other side but was greeted by the sight of long tables instead, akin to Hogwarts's Great Hall. The teachers and students had already taken their seats, and Professor Oxendine directed the first years past the teacher's desk, which was the closest to the Sorting Hall and helped them find their house's table. Colourful banners of each house clued Newt in, and he settled down next to his new Thunderbird housemates. The ends closest to the teacher's table had been left for the first years, and Newt's heard a few of them snicker at the sight of him sitting with the first years.

"Welcome, welcome!" A frazzled wizard in rumpled robes stepped behind on the podium, catching everyone's attention, and soon the crowd settled. "I am Agilbert Fontaine, Headmaster of Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and it gives me great pleasure to welcome you all!" He was remarkably young compared to Hogwarts ancient headmaster, and Newt hazarded that Fontaine was in his late forties at most. "It's always exciting to see new faces and old return for a new school year. I can see that you are eager for your meals so I won't take long. Let me start by congratulating our new students on their sorting!" He paused as the student's clapped, the most exuberant ones letting out whoops of joy and Newt noted that Thunderbird was the loudest of all. "Yes, yes, and I hope your stay here will be pleasant as your new housemates will be something of a family to you on your school journey. I also want you all to extend a warm welcome our new exchange student, Mr Scamander, who's travelled all the way from Hogwarts to join us!" Here, the Headmaster extended a hand towards where Newt was sitting, and he slumped in his seat, waving weakly at the clapping students. He was thankful when Fontaine continued his address. "I won't waste my breath on going over all of Ilvermorny's rules. I urge each and every one of you to take a look at the notice board in your headquarters to avoid future detentions. As always, it is strictly prohibited to leave school grounds without permission." His grin turning briefly into a frown of reprimand before turning upside down into a smile again, "I have an announcement to make, but it can wait. Enjoy!"

Newt clapped along with the students, blinking at the Headmaster's rapid address. He was used to Headmaster Dippet's droning speeches and found Fontaine's approach refreshing. Platers carrying mouth-watering food, both familiar and foreign alike, appeared in front of them and Newt was assaulted by an array of relaxing aromas. He still felt a bit queasy after the trip and poured himself pumpkin juice. He wasn't hungry since he'd already eaten dinner, but nibbled at a few dishes not to appear rude. The first years were busy getting acquainted and the second years beside Newt were piling their plates with food, exchanging accounts of their summer holidays.

Newt's hopes of being left alone were quickly dashed because American's were a friendly bunch. The boy sitting next to him asked: "Where are you from?"

"Britain," Newt answered, and the girl sitting in front him turned towards them with interest but addressed the boy.

"Didn't you hear the Headmaster say he was from Hogwarts?" She said archly.

"Yeah, but how am I supposed to know where that is?" The boy defended with a pout.

"Well, aren't you going to introduce yourself?" she continued.

"Why should I, when you haven't yourself?" The boy challenged, and Newt could see a new rivalry form between them. They quickly forgot him in favour of sniping at each other, which suited Newt well. He tried to examine his fellow students, but it was harder than Newt expected because wherever he looked, they were already watching him; he was apparently a hot commodity to the Americans.

He avoided meeting anyone's gaze and looked instead towards the end of the Horned Serpents table. The group of friends he'd watched during the sorting were sitting together, and he could see them shooting occasional looks to the other side of the room, at the Wampus table where Sinclair was sitting in stony silence. Newt looked away from the sad bunch and let his eyes roam freely around the room. He blushed when he caught the eye of a redhaired girl sitting at the Horned Serpent table who winked at him. Newt could see how her friends vied for her attention and was sharply reminded of Leta. She had the same look in her eye as she grinned at them. Newt looked down at his empty plate and decided then and there that this was a girl to avoid.

He took a sip of his drink and realised that something was missing. The Niffler hadn't attempted an escape for some time now. Newt had no idea how he was going to get himself out of this one. Either way, the Niffler was bound to be hungry, and Newt found a serving of meat that had the least amount of spices and discretely slipped small strips into his pocket. The girl sitting opposite raised her brow at him, and he sent her a flustered smile, but she lost interest in him when her friend drew her back into their conversation.

Dinner turned into dessert, and soon people were putting down their cutlery after having eaten their fill. Headmaster Fontaine stood up and the feast melted into thin air. "Now that growling stomachs aren't distracting you anymore, I'll get on with my announcement. As some of you are aware, Ilvermorny has the tradition of hosting an intra-school duelling competition every four years. Participation is, of course, voluntary but students under the age of thirteen are asked to postpone putting their name up for the draw as they are at a disadvantage to older and more experienced students. This year the Auror Department has kindly offered to teach a self-defence course, and competitors will receive private lessons with top Aurors. They will also be recruiting people, so those who are interested are urged to register their name and try to make a good impression-" Fontaine broke off when an excited murmur flitted across the crowd. "You'll have enough time to think this over as our guests will arrive at the start of October when the names are dawn. Now, the prefects will escort our new students to their headquarters, where your Head of House will meet you, I wish you all good luck with your studies and bid you goodnight!"

Newt stood up with the rest of the students but stayed in the group of first years. A blonde boy with a prefects badge pinned to his chest called them over, and Newt was about to follow when he was approached by a small witch with short grey hair and bright red lips. She gave him a dazzling smile, her eyes nearly disappearing beneath her crow's feet, and shook his hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, darling. My name is Edna Fowler, Head of Thunderbird house."

"Hello, Professor," Newt said, unsure how he should feel about being called a 'darling'. Only his mother and his nan called him that.

"Your sorting was a treat to watch. We haven't had one like that since Serephine Picquary was a student here," she said, and Newt nodded although he had no idea who Picquery was. She stood on her toes suddenly and waved over his shoulder. "I'm going to introduce you to Porpentina, she's one of my prefects, lovely girl. She's going to be your guide for the coming week. Tina, darling, there you are!"

"Professor Fowler." A dark-haired girl greeted her as she struggled past the first years. She appeared to be Newt's age, and she shot him a quick smile as she came to a stop beside him. Newt noticed she had a bit of mustard on the side of her mouth. "Hi, my name is Porpentina Goldstein."

"Tina dear, this here is Newton Scamander." Edna Fowler introduced them. They shook hands under her watchful eye. She smiled brightly, "Where is Mitchell?"

"He's taking care of the first years," Ms Goldstein said, and Professor Fowler clapped her hands.

"Good, good, I should go and help him," she said and waved to Newt. "I'll leave you in Tina's capable hands. Don't worry she's delightful; top of her year." She left them in awkward silence.

"You've got some eh-" Newt gestured to the side of her mouth, and she wiped the sauce off her face in mortification.

"Thanks," she said stiffly, not looking very thankful at all, and ushered him along. "Follow me, Mr Scamander."

They fell into step behind the cluster of first years, heading towards the east-wing and Newt worried for a moment that she'd try to strike up a conversation but thankfully, Ms Goldstein took her job as his guide very seriously and pointed out things of significance which he could answer with nods.

Ms Goldstein was in the midst of telling him about Ilvermorny and its founders, Isolt Sayer and her muggle husband, James Steward, when Newt stifled a yawn, blinking away tiredness. She gave him a dry smile and said, "I doubt you'll remember much of what I've shown you since you must be exhausted from your travels, Mr Scamander."

"Excuse me, that was terribly rude of me," Newt said. Ms Goldstein had been very welcoming, and he felt embarrassed for the yawn as if he wasn't interested in what she was telling him. He was about to say more when the Niffler struck again, throwing itself against his chest. Newt clutched at his breast to stop it, and Ms Goldstein frowned.

"Are you alright?" She asked, her hand fluttering around him like she was prepared to catch him if he should keel over.

"Yes, I'm fine," Newt coughed, running his hands over his coat and tried to brush off her worry. The Niffler was still again.

"You sure you don't need a nurse?" Ms Goldstein asked, eyeing him with raised brows.

"No, no, there's nothing the matter," Newt said.

"I really think you should," she insisted, but Newt was adamant.

"No, I'm fine," he repeated firmly.

"If you say so," Ms Goldstein said, not convinced by Newt's assurance and they walked the rest of the way in strained silence. They had lagged behind and the first years were nowhere in sight. Ms Goldstein directed them to another hallway, and Newt's ears picked up the sound of rushing water. At the end of the hall was a giant painting of a waterfall. It reached from floor to ceiling and was so realistic that Newt had to restrain the impulse of reaching out and touching the water, imagining that his hand would get wet.

"Here we are." Ms Goldstein smiled at Newt's bewildered look and pointed at the painting. "Our headquarter is on the other side. We have to jump through it, but don't worry; you won't get wet. Just make sure to keep to the right; we don't want any collisions here."

Newt took her advice and jumped through the painting. The sound of the waterfall disappeared, and Newt was reminded of the barrier between King's Cross railway station and Platform 9 3/4. He moved out of the way before Ms Goldstein would jump into his back.

"Welcome to Thunderbird's headquarters, Mr Scamander," she said, and Newt returned her smile.

He looked around and saw that the room was similar to Hufflepuff's common room, completely round and warmly lit. There were no plants in sight, and the marble floor was a stark contrast to Hufflepuff's soft timber.

Professor Fowler had already spoken to the first years when they arrived, and Newt returned the Professor's wave. Two staircases led in opposite directions at the end of the headquarters and Ms Goldstein parted with him there. "These are the female dormitories, and those are the male, your room is on the sixth floor. I'll meet you here tomorrow at seven sharp for breakfast."

"Goodnight," Newt said, and she halted on her way up the steps.

"Goodnight," she said sheepishly and all but ran up the stairs.

What a pleasant girl, Newt thought to himself as he walked to his room. There was only one door on the sixth floor, and Newt stepped inside. He saw that his year-mates were already getting ready for bed. Newt was surprised to see how few they were, only three other beds.

"Hi, my name is Mitchell Augustine; Prefect and Head Editor of the Ilvermory Press," the blonde prefect from before said, practically glowing with pride and Newt shook his hand. "I hope Tina showed you around a little; we wouldn't want you to get lost on your first day,"

"Oh, yes. I was in good hands," Newt said and was startled when the freckled boy standing beside Augustine jumped forward, and he grasped Newt's hand between both of his and pumped it vigorously.

"Jonathan Selwyn; Chief of staff at the Ilvermorny Press!" He boasted and bobbed his head in a pseudo bow with a mocking smile which dissolved into a laugh when Augustine swatted his arm. Newt laughed nervously and made to pull his hand away, but Selwyn didn't seem to notice.

"Don't listen to him; they'd be mad to make him chief of anything," Augustine said with a scowl and Selwyn finally released Newt's hand.

"You'll have to excuse our Head Editor, he's been unbearable ever since he got that promotion," Selwyn said to Newt conspiratorially.

"Shut up, Selwyn," Augustine grumbled, but Selwyn grinned unapologetically. "Anyway, this is David Sanchez. He's our residential night owl." He gestured towards the tall fellow standing beside his bed. Sanchez's blue eyes bore into Newt as he nodded tersely to him. Newt doubted Sanchez was trying to intimidate him on purpose, but dark bags beneath his eyes were disquieting to look at. Newt met his gaze and shot him a quick smile before his eyes darted back to Selwyn's warm smile.

"I was only goofing around. It's a real pleasure to meet you, Scamander," Selwyn said, and Newt held onto his pocket, both for comfort and to discourage Selwyn from shaking his hand again.

"It's a pleasure to meet you all, but I'm absolutely exhausted. I'll see you in the morning," Newt said with a short laugh and threw himself onto his bed and drew the curtains with a flick of his wand.

There was a pause before Newt heard Selwyn mutter, "What an odd guy."

"Can it, Selwyn," Augustine said, "David, you really need to learn how to blink more; you probably gave him the heebie-jeebies."

"Sorry," a voice Newt hadn't heard yet answered softly, presumably Sanchez.

"Ah, forget it. He's just tired; different time zones and all that. Heck, I'm exhausted as well, those portals are a pain to walk through," Selwyn said, and Newt could hear them shuffling around as they got ready for bed.

Newt sighed and put up a silencing ward before sealing his curtains shut with a sticking charm. He took off his coat and lay it down on the bed and unsealed his pocket. A long snout poked out, sniffing cautiously, and Newt met the Niffler's eyes as it emerged. It gawked at him for a split second before it turning tail and ran to the edge of the bed, trying to dive for cover. The sticking charm held fast, and it squirmed underneath the blanket instead. It struck a cord in Newt's heart when the Niffler stilled and curled up into a tight ball. He reached for his coat and emptied his pockets onto the sheet, putting the meat to the side since he doubted the Niffler would accept anything from him in its frightened state.

Newt bit his lip in a moment of thoughtful deliberation before he took off his boots and pulled out the small mokeskin pouch he stored in it for safekeeping. He lit his wand, blinking as his eyes readjusted to the brightness, and upended the bag onto the bed. Down rained his entire funding for the remainder of the school year and the clinking of coins lured the Niffler out of its burrow. Its small eyes widened in surprise, and after a momentary hesitation he sprung into action and lunged at the gleaming heap of gold like a hyena at its prey.

Newt snorted as it rolled around on it, stubby paws brushing over each piece with frantic glee. After touching every one of the coins, it started to stuff them into its pouch, one small handful at a time. The Niffler seemed to have forgotten entirely about Newt, and he used the opportunity to observe the odd creature now that he was up close. It was a male, an adolescent by the look of its fluffy fur coat. The fellow seemed to have a quick and efficient system he followed in his nesting habits. He picked one coin at a time and placed it down by Newt's pillow in an order Newt had a hard time following, rearranging it periodically more to his liking.

At the moment, Newt had no way of knowing for sure if this was typical behaviour in a Niffler or if they all had their unique way of styling their homes much as humans do. The Niffler chirped in satisfaction after it made its finishing touch to his nest and Newt's heart melted at the sound. Newt swallowed as crippling guilt spread through his chest; he'd ruined the poor guy's home earlier that day and was keeping him captive because he couldn't release the creature in an unfamiliar country, it wouldn't stand a chance against the different wildlife. Newt was determined to make the stay more bearable for the Niffler until he found a solution. If that meant he had to ply it with more shiny stuff to sate his avaricious needs, then so be it.

"We need a name for you. I can't very well keep calling you 'he' or 'it', now can I?" Newt mused, and the Niffler startled violently, evidently having been so absorbed by his new findings that he'd completely forgotten about Newt's presence. He must be very young indeed because such unguarded behaviour in a wild animal, an animal of prey, would get him killed in the wilderness.

"What about Toby?" The Niffler bristled and turned its head away, picking up a galleon and admired his reflection lazily. "No? What about Marlowe? Too ruffian? Fredric? Fitzwilliam?" No reaction. Newt continued doggedly, making a game out of gaging the creature's response to each suggestion. So far he'd been flat out ignored or, memorably, shot a baleful look at the suggestion of 'Timothy'.

"You're a tough nut to crack," Newt mused fondly. "You seemed to be fond of the way 'f' sounds." The Niffler looked up in interest when Newt let the letter fly past his lips.

"Francis?" The Niffler looked up sharply at the name and watched him with intrigue. Newt grinned in victory. "Of course you'd like the one that makes you sound like a bit of a twat," Newt said dryly, but Francis had had enough excitement for one day because he chose to curl up instead of reacting to Newt's teasing. The message was clear, and Newt flicked his wand to expel the light from its tip with a whispered 'Nox'.

"I'm glad one of us is already feeling at home here, you can keep my pillow."

* * *

Champagne anyone? I made it in time for New Year's Eve! I don't know when the next update will be since I'm moving to the States in one week, but I've updated my Tumblr, so you can keep track of coming updates there!


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